Sex and Poetry
by HollyFrench
Summary: Badboy!Blaine is failing his junior year at McKinley until Kurt offers to help him pass his classes. There's more than a little chemistry between them, and soon Blaine wants to teach Kurt a thing or two as well.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: So apparently I'm writing a Badboy!Blaine fic now? *shrugs*

I didn't mean to. I had every intention of sitting down and hashing out some other ideas and unfinished projects, but then I read Go Your Own Way by Zavocado and the plan completely changed. That fic is incredible and wouldn't leave me alone. So with all possible respect and admiration for that work, here's one of my own, inspired by the world Zavocado created and shared with us. And if you haven't read Go Your Own Way yet, do so! It will change your life!

A couple of notes about the timeline here. I have this set as Kurt transfers back to McKinley after his brief time at Dalton. In this version, Blaine was not a Warbler, or a student at Dalton at all, but rather a new kid who has shown up at McKinley during Kurt's time away. Now that Kurt is back, they have their first encounter. And that's all you need to know before reading. xo

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**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 1**

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Kurt's first week back at McKinley, for the most part, felt like coming home. There were still the occasional run-ins with Karofsky in the halls, but with Finn, Puck, Sam, and Mike constantly at his side and remaining vigilant against any violent provocations or incidents that might happen, Kurt didn't feel like he had much reason to worry. He didn't have the words to describe how much he'd missed his friends and these halls, despite what he had been through here. Dalton had been a necessary move, and he was grateful to have gone through these past several months without fear, but here, surrounded by a group of peers who loved him for all the ways he was unique, he really felt like himself. It was almost exactly the same as he remembered it.

Well, there was _one_ thing that was different. One thing he had hardly been able to keep his eyes off of since he'd first glimpsed it a few minutes earlier. One _person_.

"Who is _that_?" Kurt asked Mercedes, his mouth full of pastry and his eyes trained on a guy across the McKinley High courtyard that he'd never seen before. They were sitting outside, splitting a cranberry scone and waiting for morning classes to start, and Kurt had completely forgotten how to chew and swallow once he'd spotted the unfamiliar figure several yards away. He was standing alone against one of the cement pillars, facing away from the crowd of kids and staring out into the empty field that neighbored the school. A lit cigarette dangled from his lips, and his expression was deep and guarded. His hands were shoved into the pockets of a leather jacket, he had a row of piercings in one ear, and his jeans were scuffed and worn. They were also hugging his body in all the right places, Kurt couldn't help but notice. Finally he seemed to remember the mechanics required for eating, and he swallowed his bite of scone loudly.

Sure, the strange guy's attire had _badboy clich__é_ written all over it, but the look was doing his small but muscular frame all kinds of favors. His dark coloring – olive skin, deep hazel eyes and unruly almost-black curls – only added to his appeal. Of course, knowing Kurt's luck, he was probably the type of guy who would take a swing at him just for looking in his direction.

"Who?" Mercedes looked up, following Kurt's gaze across the courtyard. The boy took one last drag on his cigarette before crushing the butt between his fingers and flicking it away, and he tilted his head back to blow the puff of smoke straight up into the air. Kurt swallowed hard. The stranger's throat was stretched appealingly, and Kurt was overcome with an unusual but not entirely unpleasant desire to run his tongue over it. He blushed crimson at the thought. What was _wrong_ with him? Kurt Hummel simply did not think about doing things like that. Especially not with someone he had never even spoken to.

"Oh, him," Mercedes shook him from his train of thought, which was fine, because it had been chugging right along to somewhere that his mind definitely should _not_ be while at school. The gutter.

Mercedes gave Kurt an annoyingly knowing smile, and he hoped the flush in his cheeks wasn't too obvious. "Pretty dreamy, huh?"

Kurt shrugged a shoulder noncommittally. "He might be. If he wasn't dressed like one of the T-Birds."

She laughed. "Now I _know_ you think he's cute. It's only ever a good thing if someone reminds you of musical theater."

He rolled his eyes, but she was right. He was enthralled with the new addition to his high school scenery, completely unable to look away. But he still didn't have an answer. "Who is he, though?" he repeated, and Mercedes shrugged.

"I don't remember his name. He transferred here right after you left for Dalton. I think he's in our year; I have Physics class with him. But he hardly ever shows up and when he does he sits in the back of the room and doesn't talk."

"I never noticed him before now," Kurt said, and it really was a wonder, now he thought of it. The boy was, quite simply, the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen in his life. So obviously he would be straight. And probably a homophobic jerk, like most every other idiot male in Lima.

"He probably hasn't been to class since you came back," Mercedes reasoned. "Like I said, he's almost never here."

Kurt hummed in response, still watching the boy closely, and it was as though the boy could sense him suddenly, even across the crowded courtyard. His head turned, his eyes locking onto Kurt's and a sly, crooked smile pulling at one side of his mouth. Almost as if he knew that Kurt had been looking at him and talking about him and _thinking_ about him in ways he really should be ashamed of. He felt a rush of heat flooding his face, and looked down quickly, totally mortified to have been caught gaping at the mysterious stranger. He chanced another glance in his direction a moment later.

Dammit. The boy was still watching him, and now it was almost certainly obvious that Kurt had been staring. Kurt's stomach twisted up strangely in his abdomen as the kid's lips broke apart and he shot a cocky grin in his direction before pushing himself away from the pillar and squaring his shoulders, facing Kurt and practically lighting him on fire with his eyes. That confident, devilish smile stayed on his face, and it felt like a challenge, this look. As if the boy was daring him to break their eye contact first, or to do just the opposite. To stand up from the table he sat at with Mercedes and come to him.

He didn't have much time to ponder the stranger's apparent interest in him, however, because the morning bell was ringing, and the throng of students milling about in the courtyard rushed to gather books and scatter to first period. Kurt looked away as a particularly rowdy group bustled past him, knocking his bag onto the ground. He bent to retrieve it, and as he stood he looked back to the place where the other boy had been standing a second earlier, but he was gone. Kurt moved toward the steps, scanning the thinning crowd of students for him, but he didn't see the leather jacket or dark tangle of curls anywhere.

A set of fingers snapped in his face, and he started and looked around. Mercedes was half-grinning, half-glaring at him as she tried to get his attention. "C'mon, Kurt. The boy is pretty but he seems like he might be trouble and you won't see much of him anyway. His attendance record is probably about a 3%." She took his arm and the two of them walked off to their Civics class.

Kurt's thoughts were still racing, however, as he took his seat in the classroom and pulled out his textbook and notes. Of course he wasn't getting any ideas. Love did not come easily for gay teens in Ohio, and it especially did not come looking like that. Like James Dean. Or Marlon Brando. No. Kids who looked like that almost always wanted to shove kids who looked like Kurt into the pavement, not onto a mattress. They doled out bruises, not kisses.

No. Kurt was definitely not getting ideas.

But he _was_ getting almost painfully bored in his classes. As happy as he was to be back in his old school and among his old friends, he'd forgotten how much of his time in class had to be spent daydreaming just to have something to pass the minutes. He had always been a good student, and now, after six months spent at a private school where the academic standards were astronomically high, his old classes felt like a breeze. He kept finishing papers and assigned reading with more than half of the class time left to go, and so he would sketch lazily until the next bell rang, scribbling together outfits from new purchases or various items on his eBay wish list.

Today was something of a different story. He was still whipping through classwork in record time and struggling to keep himself occupied while his peers seemed to wrack their brains for answers to easy questions. But now, as his pencil slid over the heavy paper in his sketchbook, his figures were distinctly altered. Instead of the lithe, thin forms he usually drew – modelled after his own – they were more compact and muscular. He was drawing clothing on them that he didn't own, would never even think of wearing. Fitted, basic vees and converse sneakers and yes, leather jackets. The lead of his pencil was wearing down more often, too, since he was rubbing so much of it into the paper as he drew dark curls of hair on the figures' heads. Their faces, usually oblong, featureless voids, were now coming to life, their expressions closed and dark. Kurt thought they were beautiful anyway.

It wasn't until lunchtime, as he sat at one of the long tables with the other members of New Directions, still moodily etching lines in his sketchbook, that he realized who he'd been drawing. Puck had settled onto the bench next to him and peered over his shoulder at the paper.

"Is that supposed to be Blaine Anderson?" he asked, and Kurt was pulled from his drawing by the question and the unfamiliar name.

"Who?" Kurt said, looking back down at the sketch and trying to see who Puck could be thinking of.

"That kid over there," Puck clarified, nodding to a corner table and taking a truly enormous bite of what the school lunchroom called a cheeseburger. Kurt looked around and then was trying to remember what it was his lungs were for. Something about oxygen, he thought. He was supposed to inhale air, whatever that was. Except that felt impossible when he was staring into what had to be the most perfect face that had ever been carved by the hand of God.

Well. He didn't believe in God, but that boy was one beautiful cosmic coincidence. He was sitting alone – the other students seemed to want to stay as far away as possible – and he was staring at Kurt. Again. The smirk tripped over his lips once more as he caught Kurt's eye, and Kurt hurriedly turned back to Puck, mumbling something about the resemblance between his drawing and - what had Puck called him? Blaine? - being pure happenstance.

"Could have fooled me," Puck said, looking back and forth between the sketchbook and the kid whose name was apparently Blaine Anderson.

"Do you know that guy then?" Kurt couldn't help but ask. He knew he shouldn't wonder. Shouldn't be spending so much of his day thinking about someone he'd only glanced at for a few minutes that morning, but he felt a strange pull toward him, a tug like a hook caught in his chest.

Puck shrugged. "I know _of_ him," he corrected. "And you know this is something I would normally only say about myself, but the dude's a badass." Kurt raised his eyebrows. From Puck, this was high praise indeed.

"He's a delinquent," Rachel said, overhearing their conversation and offering her two cents, as usual. "He got kicked out of his old school for fighting and landing _two_ other students in the hospital."

"How do you know all that?" Mercedes asked, and Rachel gave a defensive little shrug.

"I did my research when he first transferred," she said, and everyone stared at her, including Finn, who looked as though he might be a tad bit jealous. Quinn elbowed him hard in the side, though, and he turned his attention back to his lunch as Rachel went on. "I just wanted to know if he had any sort of involvement in the drama or arts programs at his old school. I thought he might make a good addition to Glee Club if he did, but I didn't like what I found out, so I've steered clear."

"The boy is deluded," Santana added from farther down the table, and Kurt leaned forward to hear what she was going to add. It was embarrassing, this strong craving for intel on a complete and total stranger, and yet he was hanging on her every word. "I've offered to have sex with him about a dozen times and he just laughs at me. I even tried hitting on him in Spanish in case English wasn't his first language, and he _still_ didn't go for it. He's never even tried to cop _a feel_." She sounded incredulous, as if this alone proved Blaine Anderson was clinically insane.

"Do you have some sort of quota you're trying to hit before graduation?" Sam asked her, and the two of them started bickering.

Kurt was amused by the familiar dynamics of his old group of friends, and, if he allowed himself a moment of brutal honesty, glad to hear that Santana's advances hadn't impressed Blaine. He managed to make it through the rest of the lunch hour by immersing himself in conversation with Tina and Mercedes about the number they'd been working on for New Directions. They all had their insecurities printed on t-shirts, and they were supposed to share them with the rest of the club at rehearsal today after school. The excitement of being back with all of his favorite people and the promise of performing a Lady Gaga number helped to keep his mind off the constant feeling that he was being watched. He was pretty sure this meant that the boy on the other side of the cafeteria was still staring at him, but he was determined not to check. He didn't want to be caught ogling him even one more time.

The bell rang signaling the end of lunch, and Kurt gathered up his things in a hurry, waved goodbye to his friends, and turned in the direction of his Literature class. This was one class he actually looked forward to. Not only was the teacher, Ms. Fox, one of his favories – she liked to put lyrics from the Beatles and Bob Dylan on the chalkboard, and she was energetic and passionate about her subject – but they were also due to start the poetry unit, and Kurt had been thrilled that he hadn't missed it during his time at Dalton.

He was turning the last corner into the English hall, already running through a list of poems he might like to read for the class, when he bumped into something solid and hard, and the pile of things he'd been carrying in his arms flew into the air, landing in a messy heap on the floor.

Blaine Anderson whirled around in front of him, looking jarred but ready for a fight. His eyes were bright and angry, and his arm was pulled back as if about to throw a punch. Kurt winced, the familiar wave of terror rushing through him as he waited for the inevitable blow to land. A moment later, he felt a hand make contact with his face, and his eyes snapped open, because the touch wasn't a strike. Or a slap. Or anything even remotely aggressive.

It was...what was it, exactly? Kurt's heart was pounding as the hand cupped his cheek and then slid behind his neck, thumb resting at the hinge of his jaw and fingertips pushing into the nape so that Kurt was forced to tilit his head back. Blaine's expression was still burning, but the fury had turned into something more akin to desire, and he stared at Kurt's neck as though he was seriously considering taking a bite out of it. Kurt wrestled with muddied thoughts and tangled emotions and tried to figure out exactly how he should be reacting to this. To a stranger touching – caressing? – him in the hallway of his high school. What was he supposed to do? Or say? He seemed to remember that _no_ or _stop_ would be appropriate responses, but somehow he couldn't make the words leave his mouth.

One thing he knew for sure was that he shouldn't be enjoying this. Another thing he knew for sure was that he was.

Finally, his voice seemed to come back to him. Well, sort of. "I...I need to...get my stuff," he stuttered, and then immediately regretted speaking, because Blaine's hand released him, and a chill ran through him, the air in the hallway suddenly feeling much too cold against his bare neck. He couldn't move his body, only able to stare as Blaine stooped down to gather his scattered things.

A moment later he was sorely wishing he had done it himself, because Blaine was suddenly holding his sketchbook, still open to his recent drawings, which, it was undeniable, were based off the strange boy who had captured his attention so fully just a few hours ago. The rough, dark, handsome features matched him exactly, and this wasn't lost on Blaine. Not if the mocking grin that settled across his face was anything to go by.

"Not bad, baby," he said, and his voice was low, smooth, and warm. Not at all the voice Kurt expected from someone with calloused hands and several piercings in his face. The sardonic term of endearment was unexpected, too. There was amusement in his words, the corners of his mouth twitching as that damn smile danced on his lips, and he went on. "How 'bout I pose for you sometime? You know, without the jacket. Or the pants."

Kurt didn't have time to be shocked. He was too busy being humiliated. He snatched his things out of Blaine's hands just as a wave of students came down the hallway around them. Class was starting any minute, thank goodness, because he was blushing all the way to the roots of his hair and desperate to leave this boy's presence. "Don't flatter yourself," he hissed, fumbling with his sketchbook and slamming the cover shut. "Who says this is you? Do you think you're the only person alive who owns a leather jacket?"

Blaine laughed. "No," he said. "But I _am_ the only thing you've been thinking about since this morning."

Kurt scoffed, annoyed that this cocky jackass had the nerve to assume such a thing, and even more annoyed that it was true. He stood there awkwardly staring at Blaine with his mouth opening and closing like some kind of mortified guppy, for the first time in his life completely incapable of formulating a snappy comeback. He would have settled in the meantime for any sentence or phrase that would have at least helped him appear to have his wits about him, but he couldn't think of one of those either.

The final bell saved him from looking foolish any longer. He crammed the stack of things he held into his bag and turned and stalked away quickly, relieved to finally be getting away from this kid who made him feel more flustered than he had ever been in his life, but nervous now that he was officially late to class. He pushed into the third room on the right hurriedly, and Ms. Fox glanced up from her spot at the front of the room, where she had already started taking attendance.

"There you are, Kurt," she said, not seeming at all peeved by his tardiness. "I was just about to mark you as absent."

"Sorry," he muttered, but she just waved a hand in the air, dismissing the apology.

"It's fine. Take a seat, please." Kurt let out a sigh of relief, but Ms. Fox wasn't finished speaking. "You too, Mr. Anderson. Long time, no see."

Kurt spun on the spot. Blaine was standing behind him in the doorway, still smirking and raising his eyebrows, maddeningly smug. Kurt swore silently as he turned and marched to his seat near the back of the room. He groaned as he realized it was one of only two empty seats in the entire class, and the second one was directly behind his. He was going to have to sit through this Lit class knowing that Blaine Anderson was staring at the back of his head for the entire hour. Why did they have to have _this_ class together? Now what was typically his favorite part of the day was going to be unbearable.

His cheeks were still on fire as he slumped into his seat, and he glanced up at Blaine as he filed past him, trying for a hateful stare but probably failing, since the other boy's response was a cheeky little wink.

The next hour felt even more agonizingly long than the rest of Kurt's classes combined. But this time it wasn't because he was bored. Quite the opposite. He was working hard to focus on Ms. Fox's introduction to the poetry unit, but it was next to impossible when he kept having to bat away Blaine's fingers, which kept sneaking up and tracing behind Kurt's ears and through his hair. Occasionally he'd lean forward, whispering increasingly lewd comments to him and chuckling as he watched the blush spread across the back of Kurt's neck. And there was absolutely nothing Kurt could do about it without disrupting the entire class. They were the only ones seated in the back of the room, so Blaine was free to harass Kurt for the length of the entire period without anyone noticing. If someone had been paying attention, they would have thought Kurt was flapping wildly in the air at an especially persistent fly.

The worst part was that aside from coming from a boy he'd had only one conversation with – and an unpleasant one, at that – the soft brush of fingertips trailing over his skin felt very, very good. No matter how loudly the logical part of his brain screamed that this was highly inappropriate, unwanted attention, he couldn't help but feel a small rush of satisfaction every time Blaine's hands reached out to touch him. Which was why it was taking him longer and longer to shrug him off each time it happened. By the end of class, Kurt had been allowing Blaine to touch him for six straight minutes, his head lolling around on his shoulders, completely giving in. But then the bell rang, and Kurt jumped so violently in his seat that Blaine's blunt fingernails dug into his skin painfully. He let out a loud gasp at the sting, and Ms. Fox turned to look at him as the rest of the class scooted out of their chairs and headed for the door.

"Everything all right, Mr. Hummel?" she asked him, narrowing her eyes at Blaine, who had yanked his hand away as soon as she looked over.

"Yes, fine," Kurt mumbled, but the sharp twinge of pain on his neck had shaken him out of his stupor, and everything was definitely _not_ all right. He had just sat in the back of his favorite class, not paying a lick of attention to the teacher and letting a boy he barely knew whisper to him about things he usually wouldn't even think about while he was alone. What the hell was happening to him?

Thankfully, he was saved from further confusing interactions by Ms. Fox, who asked to speak to Blaine for a moment after class. Kurt took the opportuniy to dart from the room, practically sprinting to his next class and hoping against hope that Blaine wouldn't be in it. The bell rang for the start of fifth period five minutes later, and Kurt was relieved to see that he had gotten his wish. Blaine hadn't entered the classroom, so he must have been in a different class. Probably Physics, since he knew that was where Mercedes was, and she had said Blaine was in her class. He wouldn't have to fend off any more attention this hour. Which was a good thing. It was. So why did he also feel a tiny stab of disappointment?

Kurt didn't so much as glimpse Blaine for the rest of the school day, and while that was sort of what he'd wanted, he couldn't help but grow even more uncertain about what the boy's interest in him had meant. He wanted to know. Was Blaine just taunting him? Teasing him because he knew he was gay, and hadn't had anyone pay him that kind of attention in his entire life? Trying to get a rise out of him? Kurt didn't know, and even more frustrating, couldn't just go up to him and _ask_. He barely knew the kid, and this was McKinley, not Dalton. If Blaine was as much trouble as everyone seemed to think, it might not be a good idea to corner him and try to find out if this was all just one big practical joke, or if maybe Blaine felt as much of a draw to him as he did to Blaine.

He couldn't help but be reminded of Karofsky as he thought. The last thing he needed was to have another bully threatening his life mere days after he'd finally convinced his dad it was safe for him to return to public school. No. It would be best just to shrug everything off and see it for what it was. A game.

When it was finally time for Glee Club two hours later, Kurt almost skipped to the auditorium, excited to sing and dance with his old choir for the first time since he'd come back to New Directions. He'd spent his time with the Warblers harmonizing and swaying behind all the senior members of the council, so he figured this would be a refreshing change of pace.

And he was right. It felt good to be a part of a group that wasn't so obsessed with uniformity, that celebrated its members for what made them all different. Because that was often the best part of a person, wasn't it? What set him apart.

He and his friends were laughing together on their way to the parking lot after rehearsal, admiring each other's t-shirts and excitedly discussing Nationals, when they passed by the boys' locker room, and something gave Kurt pause.

He hadn't been in that room for several months. Since he'd run after Karofsky and gotten pulled into that horrifying kiss. He felt a strange urge to walk in, take a look around, face up to the moment that had caused him to run away from McKinley in the first place. Try to overcome it somehow.

"Are you coming, Kurt?" Finn asked him from down the hall, turning to see why his stepbrother had stopped walking with them.

Kurt took a deep breath. He had to do this. "In a minute," he answered, watching as Finn shrugged and continued down the hall. He took a step toward the locker room door, clutching the strap of his messenger bag a little tighter, then bit the bullet entirely. He strode into the room, making it all the way to the line of sinks before he stopped. He looked around. Right there, right by those lockers, Karofsky had taken what was supposed to be one of the most beautiful memories of his life and turned it into a nightmare.

He felt overwhelmed suddenly, letting out a shaky breath and turning to one of the nearby sinks. He turned on the cold water and splashed it onto his face, trying to calm down. He was drying his face and had almost gotten ahold of himself when he heard someone speak to him.

"Hello, gorgeous."

Kurt whipped around at the sound of the voice; low, heated, and familiar. His first thought after the shock of realizing there was someone else in the locker room with him was that the guy had just unwittingly quoted Fanny Brice in _Funny Girl_. He would have found the fact humorous if he wasn't instinctively worried about being alone with someone here. He didn't have the most pleasant of histories with this room, after all.

He craned his neck around, trying to spot his company. "Who is it?" he called out, though of course he already knew. His eyes flicked about the rows of lockers, trying to spot a leather jacket lurking around a corner. He turned around and let out a small shout as he finally caught sight of the owner of the voice in the mirror. His heart was thudding painfully in his chest as he met that intense pair of hazel eyes, and he fought the urge to be thrilled by the fact that he was alone with one of the sexiest guys he'd ever laid eyes on. He had to remind himself silently and forcefully that Blaine Anderson – in the hooded leather jacket, arms crossed over his chest, dark curls falling messily around his ears and across his forehead, a smug smirk across those perfect lips – was an asshole. At least as far as he could tell.

Kurt took a deep, steadying breath and addressed him with as much fierceness as he could muster. "You scared me," he said bitterly, finding it near impossible to ignore the new kid's reflection in the mirror, but trying his damnedest anyway. Even without looking directly at him, he could sense the blazing gaze lingering on his back. He kept his eyes trained on the sink, determined not to meet the Blaine's stare with his own, because he knew his heart would pick up pace and his cheeks would flush if he had to try to keep his composure with those eyes on him.

_Look down, look down, look down._

It was because of this repeated, obeyed mantra that he was so stunned a moment later, as a pair of hands grasped his waist and that deep, silky voice was suddenly in his ear. "I've been thinking about making you scream all day, baby," his breath was warm and smelled like nicotine, and Kurt accidentally breathed it in as he gasped at the fingers gripping his sides and the shocking words being whispered to him. He spun around, too surprised to do anything but stare in wide-eyed astonishment at the face that was now only inches from his own. That infuriating smirk was still painted on his lips as he spoke, his breath tickling Kurt's lips now. "Though I had more exciting ideas about how to do it."

Kurt sputtered, his eyes raking across the dark features in front of him. "Ex-excuse me?" He was at a loss. Was he being threatened? Propositioned? Assaulted? He couldn't tell. Kurt thought he saw lust in Blaine's eyes, but he couldn't be sure, because he'd never seen that look directed at him in his life. Not until today, anyway.

"You heard me," Blaine muttered, and his lips were moving towards Kurt's jaw, before he finally came to himself and pushed his palms against the firm chest so near his, shoving this arrogant kid several feet away and shooting him the nastiest look he could manage while his pulse raced and his skin tingled where Blaine's fingers had been holding him. Blaine only chuckled, which infuriated Kurt to no end.

"What on earth makes you think I'd be interested, you creep?" he spat, working very hard to pull himself together and find the quick, abrasive wit that he could usually count on at all times, but which had strangely abandoned him in what had to be the oddest few minutes of his life.

Blaine was taking a step toward him again, and Kurt expected him to try to reach for him, but instead he tucked his forefingers into the lapels of Kurt's plaid jacket and slowly pulled it open, grinning wolfishly as the words "LIKES BOYS" screamed from his t-shirt. "This shirt, for one," he said, and Kurt blushed and yanked it closed again as the other boy grinned. "The way you've been fucking me with your eyes since you first saw me, for another."

"I have _not_," Kurt practically yelled, hugging his jacket tight across his chest, feeling humiliated by his outfit now that the rest of the Glee Club wasn't there with him, proudly sporting their own custom shirts. Blaine seemed to sense his embarrassment, looking him in the eye intently as he stepped even closer, his hands planting themselves on either side of the sink at Kurt's back, effectively pinning him in place. He struggled willfully, but the arms holding him there were strong, and he couldn't budge.

"Don't be shy, baby. I like boys, too," Blaine murmured, and Kurt could smell his cigarettes again as he leaned close, eying him with burning eyes and bringing an arm up to hold his cheek in a rough hand, swiping the pad of his thumb over Kurt's bottom lip. "Especially ones with pretty little mouths like yours."

Kurt stared, his mouth hanging open stupidly, the callouses he felt stroking over his cheek making him light-headed and dizzy. For some strange reason, he found himself wanting to lean into the touch, to close his eyes, to groan as Blaine's thumb tugged down on his lip slightly, slipping into his mouth and running over a few of his teeth.

But he came back to his senses almost at once, ducking away now that Blaine's arm had freed him in favor of touching his face. He was breathing heavily and trying to wrap his mind around the odd mix of arousal and anger clouding his thoughts, but then he glanced back at this guy he barely knew, who was laughing darkly and still looking like he wanted to devour him. Kurt's head was momentarily clear, his irritation winning out over the brief temptation to let Blaine Anderson put his hands wherever he wanted.

"What is _with_ people at this school?" he shouted, gesturing wildly around the locker room. "Why is it every time I come in here a closet case wants to kiss me? The smell of sweat and dirty gym socks really doesn't do it for me. Feel free to spread the word." He shoved quickly past Blaine, knocking into his shoulder with a little more force than was necessary and grabbing his bag, making to storm out of the room without a backwards glance.

But a hand closed itself around his wrist before he could take two steps, and he turned around, waiting to resist another very forward advance. He was surprised to see a look of fury on Blaine's face, and now he was starting to feel afraid. He didn't know this guy. Had no idea what he might do now that Kurt had rejected and insulted him. Would he try to force things? To make Kurt do something he didn't want to?

"Who tried to kiss you?" Blaine growled at him, and his grip on Kurt's wrist was almost painful now. Kurt twisted it, trying and failing to wrench himself loose.

"Wh-what?" Kurt stammered. "_You _did."

"I know that," Blaine answered him, and the edge was still in his voice as he searched Kurt's face. "And I _will_. Soon. But who else?"

Kurt wasn't about to answer him. For one thing, what did he care? Was he trying to scope out who else at McKinley was gay, so he could corner them in the locker room too? At any rate, it wasn't Kurt's secret to divulge. When and how David Karofsky decided to come out was entirely up to him. He pursed his lips together stubbornly and stared back at Blaine with determination and probably also obvious fear, because the hold on his wrist slackened, and when he spoke again some of the ferocity was gone from his voice.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Blaine said, but Kurt wasn't so sure. There was still an almost crazed look of hunger in his eyes. "And I won't tell anyone else. But I want to know."

Kurt found himself unable to form a coherent thought, let alone open his mouth to speak, so he just shook his head vehemently instead. The next second, his body was backed into the cold metal lockers behind him, and Blaine's hand was once again tight on his arm, his eyes boring into him with angry impatience. His other hand was shoving into Kurt's hip, forcing him to be still against the wall of lockers, and his thumb had somehow slid underneath his t-shirt and was pressing onto Kurt's bare skin. The grip didn't hurt, but it was firm, and it was very clear to Kurt that these hands wouldn't be letting him go until Blaine got his answer. It felt exactly like a small flame was burning him where the thumb was touching him, but it was nothing compared to Blaine's eyes, which were fiery and furious and mere inches from his own.

"Tell me," he demanded, and he seemed so determined, so dangerous, his hazel eyes flashing and his hands strong and insistent, that Kurt heard the name trip out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"D-Dave Karofsky," he blurted out, and then was horrified. He should _not_ have said that. Blaine looked, if anything, even angrier, and Kurt was certain he'd just made a huge mistake.

Blaine still didn't let go of him, but his grip was at once gentle, and the thumb resting on his skin underneath his shirt slid back and forth over his hip as his gaze softened. "Thank you," he said, only a breath away from Kurt's face. "I'll take care of it."

And then his hands were gone, and Kurt should have felt relieved, but instead he once again was feeling like the room was too cold, like Blaine had been protecting him from a chill in the air. He watched mutely and in shock as Blaine turned for the hallway and walked out of the room without even one more word.

_I'll take care of it_, he had said. What in the name of God did that mean? He didn't know, but he was sure of only one thing as he stood stock still where Blaine had held him against the lockers.

It wasn't going to be good.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks so much for your responses to that first chapter, guys! I don't know why, but this idea has just sort of started growing in my head like a weed. A chain-smoking, rebellious weed with a leather jacket and a bad attitude. So for those of you who hoped for more, you're in luck!

Also I wanted to quickly note that in this version of things, Karofsky is not as repentant as he was on the show. So keep that in mind as you're reading.

One more thing, regarding my other story, All Summer. I appreciate all the support and interest in it, really I do. But for whatever reason, it's just not lighting a fire in me at the moment. I may very well pick up where I left off eventually, because I had plans for those boys, but right now it's on the back burner. _So_ sorry, but hopefully this one will fill the void for a while. xo

* * *

**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 2**

* * *

Scandals was pretty dead tonight.

Dead for his tastes, anyway, since most of the patrons crowding the bar were in their forties or older. Too old for his liking. A few of them shot an appreciative glance in his direction, or worse, asked the bartender to get him a drink. He drank whatever was handed to him without hesitation, but scowled dismissively and moved away if any of them tried to make conversation. Older men reminded him of his father, and if there was a faster way to turn him off than that, he hadn't yet discovered what it was.

On another night, he would have had a bit of fun; teased them, danced on them for a song or two, accepted a few strong cocktails and then laughed in their faces just when they thought it was about to get good. He loved disappointing them. Possibly because he was so used to disappointing the man they all brought to mind. This game had earned him a black eye or busted lip more than once, and a few times he'd even had to watch as a particularly pathetic old skeeze crumpled into a mess of drunken tears and embarrassed sobs, but he didn't care. He didn't like the way they looked at him. Like he was a fucking toy.

None of the younger guys were catching his attention tonight either. There was one in particular who was trying desperately to make an impression. He kept moving to different spots around the wall and staring, clearly hoping that at some point their eyes would meet and sparks would fly. He was attractive enough, and built like a dream, but, ultimately, not what he was looking for tonight. He watched with bored disinterest as the guy shot him a suggestive look, staring pointedly up and down his body and dancing provocatively to try to tempt him over. After enduring this display for a few minutes, he turned away, feigning a wide yawn just to be sure he got his point across. No, thank you.

He looked around the bar one last time before coming to an unsettling conclusion.

He didn't want to fuck a single person in this room.

For Blaine Anderson, this was unheard of. He wasn't usually picky. He'd find someone else who looked like they'd only gotten in with the help of a fake ID, someone else who needed to get off as badly as he did, then they'd scratch the itch in the parking lot, sometimes without so much as exchanged names, and he'd head home alone. Just the way he liked it.

But the typical scenario didn't appeal to him tonight, he realized, heading for the door and digging a cigarette and lighter out of his jacket pocket. He lit up as he stepped outside, leaning against the brick wall of the club to think. He had a pretty good idea why he suddenly couldn't bring himself to go after any of his usual targets.

It was because of that kid from school. The kid whose gaze had called to him from across the courtyard that very morning. He had been on the point of walking off school grounds, feeling far less willing to try the whole _going to class_ thing once he was actually there, when he'd felt something strange and unspoken whisper through him. A sort of quiet command to turn around, look. And then he was staring into the bluest eyes that had ever met his own.

There had been an instant of shock, like someone had unexpectedly hit him hard in the chest with a defibrillator, because _Christ_ he was beautiful. Like, ethereally beautiful. Possibly not of this earth, because no one he had ever seen had eyes that blue or skin that clear and white. But then those blue eyes glanced away, and that white skin was tinged with pink as the boy blushed, and Blaine knew. Knew that the feeling of fascination was mutual. And, oh, he was going to have fun with this one. A splendid, shy, _virgin_. He had picked the right day to come to school.

At first he thought the boy was new to McKinley, or at least new enough that Blaine hadn't met him the last time he'd bothered to show up to class about a month ago. But then he'd watched him, and noticed that he seemed to know the teachers and students here quite well, better than he did, anyway, and he wondered if somehow he had just missed him until today. It didn't seem likely. He would have been aware of him before now. It didn't make sense that he would have overlooked the only kid at McKinley who seemed to be comfortably out of the closet. Especially not when he was so enticing.

Well, he had time to work out that particular mystery. Because he was already thinking hard about how to work out another one. How to get closer to the boy. How to be able to put his hands, his lips on him. To press his body up against him, to make that pale pink mouth dance across his own skin. Blaine wanted to touch him everywhere, which was something new. The only parts of a guy that usually occupied his thoughts were his cock or ass, but this boy was flawless all over. He wanted to start at the very tip-top of him, to tug on those strands of chestnut hair before moving all the way down to his toes, making them curl as he went to work on him. He wanted to see his legs tremble, his fingers twist in the bedsheets, his back arch off the mattress as he came.

The desire to touch him had only gotten stronger once he actually had in the hallway after lunch. He'd felt a knock against his back as he stood trying to remember exactly where his English class was located, and whirled around, expecting some sort of altercation with one of the jocks that he'd clashed with from the day of his transfer. But it was the boy again, and Blaine had watched as his perfect features closed in on themselves at the sight of his raised fist. Ordinarily he would have been amused or even pleased to have that effect on someone, satisfied to know people thought of him as someone to avoid, if they could help it. But fear was an ugly emotion, and it didn't belong on a face as beautiful as this one.

Reaching out had been almost reflexive, instinctual. He'd just wanted to fix whatever he had done to make the boy look so scared. But then his hand had been on that cheek and the skin was even softer, smoother, than Blaine had imagined, and the expression on his face had changed so quickly. From terror to surprise to an almost hypnotized state of calm. And then Blaine had wondered what else his hands could do to him, what other shifts they could cause just by sliding and moving a little lower to grip his neck instead. He probably would have been happy to stand there for the rest of the afternoon, holding on and just staring, if the boy hadn't finally spoken. A stumbling, stuttering utterance, yes, but enough to snap Blaine from his daze.

And fuck if the sound of his voice wasn't every bit as beautiful as the rest of him. It was high and breathy, though whether that was natural or just a result of whatever trance the boy had fallen under in Blaine's hands, he hadn't yet known. He _had_ known that he needed to get control of himself, and quickly, because the way his heart was pounding in his chest had started to feel abnormal and painful, the jarring force in his ribcage giving him half a mind to head for the nurse's office rather than his next class.

Letting go had been helpful. He could think a lot clearer without the contact, but the flush rising high in the boy's cheeks had been almost as intoxicating as touching him had been. So he'd bent to retrieve the boy's scattered things, not out of kindness, but in a sort of desperate rush to distract himself.

And then he'd seen the drawings, and it was like looking into a paper mirror that reflected his image in shades of gray, and he couldn't help it. He felt encouraged and completely turned on knowing that this boy had clearly spent the better part of his morning at school drawing him from the memory of a few seconds' shared glances in the courtyard. And he'd told the boy as much, thrilling at how easy it was to make him blush, at the way his eyes darkened at his suggestive words, and later, as Blaine ran his fingers over his neck in class, at his gradual submission to the want he was so obviously feeling himself.

Yes. He had to have this boy. He had to have Kurt Hummel. God, the very _name_, a name he'd only just learned today, made him want to tear at his own skin in sexual frustration. As soon as was possible, he had to have that pale, perfect form spread out underneath him, offered up to him, begging to be taken apart at the seams. The idea of it was electric, and he knew then and there that he would want nothing else until he'd made this particular fantasy real.

For the first time since he'd transferred to McKinley, he was actually looking forward to going to school, if for no other reason than he'd have the whole of his English class to once again tangle his fingers in the soft hairs at the nape of Kurt Hummel's neck. He tried to ignore the fact that there seemed to be a weird, foreign stitch in his chest when he thought about this new infatuation. Like he might die if he couldn't at least look at Kurt's face again soon. But it was nothing. Just lust. Or dehydration. Or maybe he was drunk.

A sudden burn at the tips of his fingers brought him back to the present moment where he stood outside of Scandals, his cigarette burned up all the way to his hand, and he swore in irritation with himself because now his fingers stung and he'd wasted a perfectly good smoke.

All right. Enough. Scandals wasn't going to be enough to distract him tonight, and he needed to stop thinking about Kurt Hummel fast, because the ache in both his chest and his cock was becoming too much to bear. Well. It was more likely he'd head home and think about him for a while longer. Long enough to relieve the pressure that was taking up every spare corner of his mind. And his pants.

He threw his cigarette to the pavement, stamping it out with the toe of a shoe and pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. He was just about to start walking for the main road when a couple of figures pushed out of the doorway of the club, bumping into him and then continuing into the parking lot. Blaine stared after them for a second, pissed that they couldn't manage a simple _excuse me_ after practically knocking him over, and then they passed under one of the street lamps, and Blaine was momentarily stunned as he saw someone he recognized.

Dave Karofsky.

Ah. So he was going to have some fun tonight after all.

* * *

Monday morning found Kurt and Mercedes once again awaiting the start of class in the McKinley courtyard. This time, Mercedes nibbled on a scone by herself while Kurt bent over the thick poetry packet that Ms. Fox had handed out on Friday. He had been too distracted during her lesson to notice if she'd assigned any reading, and if she had, what is was, so he'd spent most of the weekend alternating between fixation on Blaine Anderson and a panicked, hurried reading of every single included poem, just in case.

_**Confused **by Claire Nixon_

Ha. Here was one he would probably be able to relate to.

_I discover myself misplaced  
__winding through everlasting paths.  
__I don't belong at this point.  
__Yet, I yearn to feel,  
__taste and catch sight of  
__something real.  
__I have nothing to lose.  
__With gaping wounds  
__existence drifts away.  
__Pain and terror  
__develop into my pleasure.  
__Nothing is true.  
__I can't help being confused.  
__This is what I wanted all along._

Hmm. Okay, so not exactly. Kurt didn't really feel like he had any gaping wounds or that his existence was drifting away. But he _was_ confused.

His encounter – well, _encounters_, he supposed – with Blaine on Friday had turned his mind into a disorganized mess of lust and anxiety. He had struggled to fall asleep that night, too preoccupied with worries about what that gorgeous enigma of a boy had meant when he'd mentioned taking care of Karofsky. Kurt was still furious with himself for letting the name slip. He hadn't told anyone what had happened all those months ago in the locker room, and he hadn't planned to. But then those strong hands had held him, and those dark hazel eyes had stared into his and insisted on an answer, and _crap_, he was going to feel so guilty if anything bad happened to Dave Karofsky because of him.

Of course, this wasn't the only thing making it difficult for him to sleep. He couldn't get comfortable. He kept remembering the pleasant burn on his skin underneath Blaine's fingers. His voice whispering to him in English class. The way he'd smelled. The way he'd reached for him over and over again. Kurt had stared at the ceiling of his bedroom for too long, running his own thumb across his lips, trying to recall the way Blaine's calloused fingers had felt on his face.

And _God_. Blaine had said he was going to _kiss_ him, had seemed so sure. Kurt was torn between indignation at the assumption and a ridiculous, consuming hope that he had meant it, because if he felt this alive and awakened after a few moments at the mercy of Blaine's hands, he had no idea what his lips would do to him. And maybe he shouldn't want to find out.

But he did want to. Really, _really_ bad.

When he had finally drifted off that night, it hadn't exactly been a restful, peaceful sleep. He woke up barely an hour after closing his eyes from the first sex dream he'd ever had in his entire life. Soaked through with his own sweat, he had wildly looked around his dark bedroom, half expecting to find Blaine wrapped up in the sheets with him. It had been so _real_. He blushed furiously at what he had just been seeing – and oh, _doing_ – in his dreams, even though it was the middle of the night, and thankfully, he had woken before he'd managed to make an embarrassing mess of evidence in his pajamas.

The details had slipped away quickly, but Kurt remembered the broader strokes. Naked bodies and tangled limbs, sliding and pushing, gasps and cries. He should not be dreaming about doing those things with someone he hardly knew. And he definitely shouldn't be thinking about doing them now that he was back in a conscious state. But he couldn't help it. Blaine had put all of these thoughts in his head. Had breathed all of his dirty ideas into Kurt's ear, forced the images into his mind, and he hadn't been able to shake them. Though, to be honest, he hadn't been trying very hard.

He tried to remind himself that getting involved with Blaine Anderson was not an option. No. For one thing, the kid probably wasn't even interested in him in any sort of romantic way. He was just a new toy for Blaine to play with. The filthy, flirtatious attention was likely just a way to get under Kurt's skin, to mess with him, to make him want something he would never be able to have.

And even if Blaine _did_ have something in mind beyond tempting and teasing him, there was no way Kurt could allow himself to go there. Blaine was a bad kid. Disrespectful of authority, apathetic toward school, reportedly violent. And he was a smoker. Which was gross.

But all of these warnings and reasons to resist seemed weak and feeble when he did so much as picture Blaine's face. The thick eyebrows that rested in a furrow on his forehead, or lifted in smug satisfaction whenever he said something to make a flustered heat crawl into Kurt's cheeks. The dark, guarded, hazel eyes that watched him, searched him, ran over him as if they were drinking the sight of him up, but still thirsty no matter how long they stared. The lips, either quirked into an arrogant smile or moving silkily against his ear, breathing things he wanted to do to him just as soon as he had him alone.

_Dammit._ He should _not_ be as intrigued as he was with Blaine Anderson. He should _not_ be looking around the courtyard, either, trying to catch a glimpse of the faded and familiar leather jacket. He definitely should _not_ be counting down the minutes until his Lit class, hoping that Blaine would slip his fingers into his hair again or whisper more distractions to him. He should _not_.

A loud _slam_ next to him successfully chased the stress and sex from Kurt's mind, and he started, looking up from the poetry packet he hadn't been reading anymore to see Puck, sitting down next to him and leaning on a stack of textbooks he had presumably just thrown onto the table.

"Wow, Puck," Kurt said, genuinely impressed. "I don't think I've ever seen you carrying even one book around this place, and now you've got a whole pile. Are you actually doing your homework these days?"

"Huh?" Puck looked confused, then glanced down at the books under his folded arms. "Oh, no, dude. These aren't mine. I stole them from some dweeb freshman."

"Puckerman, you clown." Mercedes said with scorn. "Give the poor kid his books back."

"Relax," Puck assured them. "I'm only keeping them until he finishes my Chemistry homework. Kid's a total four-eyes, so I'm sure he'll be done any minute."

"You think because he has glasses that he'll know all about the organic nomenclature system?" Kurt asked, a little amused but mostly irritated by Puck's blatant bullying.

Puck stared at him blankly for a moment before answering. "Well, he's bound to do better than I would, because whatever you just said makes about as much sense to me as your outfit."

Mercedes snorted, and Kurt huffed. Oh, _honestly_. Hadn't anyone in Lima ever heard of a neckerchief? He tried to reason with him further. "Are you forgetting why I had to transfer to a completely different school last semester? Don't pick on people, Puck, seriously."

Kurt was feeling pretty proud of himself for instilling some empathy in his mohawked friend, but the self-congratulation was premature. Instead of moving to return the confiscated textbooks, Puck just leaned forward with an excited look on his face. Like he had just figured out how to smuggle vodka into his homeroom.

"Speaking of Karofsky," Puck started, and Kurt sighed, wishing this conversation didn't have to shift to include his least favorite person at McKinley. Maybe no one would be able to tell if he sat here and let his thoughts drift back to Blaine instead. Puck went on. "Have you seen him today? Looks like someone finally had enough of his shit. Wish it could have been me."

And with that, all thought of Blaine vanished from Kurt's mind. Well, that wasn't entirely true. It would be more accurate to say that all of the sexy, pleasant thoughts were gone. Because unfortunately, Blaine's words from the locker room last week were suddenly ringing in his ears. _Who tried to kiss you? I want to know. I'll take care of it. _

"What do you mean?" Mercedes was asking, and Kurt braced himself. He was positive Blaine figured into this story somehow.

"I mean someone kicked his ass," Puck said. "Half of his face is a bruise. Rick the Stick kept asking him who did it but Karofsky just told him to fuck off. He hasn't said what happened but we all know, don't we?"

Mercedes nodded. "Messed with the wrong guy. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

Kurt groaned out loud and put his head in his hands. He felt sick. This was all his fault; he just knew it. Karofsky had kissed him and in a moment of insane weakness, he had told the _wrong guy_ himself. How could he have been so stupid? Wasn't Rachel just telling him last week that Blaine had put a couple of kids from his old school in the hospital? And still Kurt had let himself get carried away. Well. That stopped here and now. He had been the victim of violent threats before, and it had made his life miserable. No one deserved that. Not even Dave Karofsky.

"What's wrong, dude?" Puck asked, clearly perplexed as to why Kurt was rubbing his temples and looking upset. "I thought you'd like to hear that someone finally gave him a taste of his own medicine."

"No," Kurt said, gathering his things and standing up to leave. "I don't like to hear about anyone getting bullied. Now go give that freshman his damn books back!" He stormed off, leaving a stunned Mercedes and Puck staring after him in surprise.

He had to think. He would just go to his Civics class early and try to make sense of the last few days before the bell rang. Then at least he wouldn't be sitting around trying to stop himself searching the courtyard for Karofsky, to see exactly what kind of damage had been done, or Blaine, whose cocky smile wasn't something he could stomach right now.

The first half of the day crept by. But instead of filling his spare minutes with sketching or adding to the list of songs he'd like to sing in Glee Club before graduation, Kurt was wrestling with about a dozen different emotions over this whole Karofsky fiasco. Guilt. Pity. Anger. Relief. Regret. Disgust.

And fear. He had been trying not to think about it, trying not to admit the real reason he wished he hadn't told Blaine what had happened in the locker room last year, but it nagged at him anyway. Karofsky had said he would kill him if anyone found out. Well, someone had found out, hadn't they? And that someone had done something about it, if Puck was to be believed. He was especially jumpy between classes, half expecting to turn a corner and find Karofsky or one of his idiot jock friends bearing down on him. At lunch he abandoned the girls to squeeze in between Finn and Sam at their usual table, hoping this would discourage any hostility being aimed at him today.

"Kurt, who do you keep looking for?" Mercedes finally asked from the seat across from him, when he had peered over his shoulder and scanned the cafeteria for about the tenth time in as many minutes.

"No one," he mumbled, turning back to the limp leaves of lettuce on his plate and poking at them with little enthusiasm. Okay, so that was a lie. He was looking for Karofsky, partly because he wanted to see exactly what had happened to him over the weekend and partly because he expected to find him glaring daggers in his direction and pummeling his own fist in a promise of revenge. So far, though, there was no sign of him.

Mercedes smirked at him, and he failed to see exactly what was funny about this situation. "I already told you he's almost never here. I hope you got a good enough look on Friday because that's probably the last time he'll be at school before the end of the year. Sorry, Boo." She winked at him, and now it made sense. She thought he was searching the lunchroom for Blaine.

Come to think of it, where _was _Blaine? Had he really shown up just long enough to wreak havoc on Kurt's anxiety levels and libido and then just disappeared? He stared around the room again, and this time he really was looking for him, but he wasn't at the table he had sat at last week, or anywhere else, as far as Kurt could tell.

Well, good. If Blaine wasn't here, that was one less thing he had to worry about. One less distraction to deal with for the rest of the day.

When the bell rang, Kurt headed for his English class, and even though he knew better than to think he'd be seeing Blaine, his heart was pounding hard in his chest as he reached the classroom and sat down at his desk in the back of the room. Each time another student walked into the room, his eyes would dart up to see who it was, and each time he was both relieved and let down when he didn't see that intense pair of hazel eyes staring back at him.

Ms. Fox came in the classroom with the final bell, settling at her podium to take attendance while everyone dug out the poetry packet she'd given them. Kurt thought he saw a bit of disappointment on her own face as she registered the empty chair behind him. It probably killed her to know that there was even one student out there that didn't share her love and appreciation for the written word enough to show up for class. She was shuffling her papers together and had just told them to turn to page 5 when the door banged open, making them all jump in their seats and causing the pile of papers Ms. Fox had been holding to go fluttering all over the front of the classroom. She clutched at her heart and whipped around to see who had just entered her classroom with such blatant disregard for door etiquette, and then sighed loudly.

"Mr. Anderson, it's wonderful to see you so thrilled about 11th grade English, but there's no need to break down the door in your excitement to join us. Sit down, please." She didn't need to tell him twice. Blaine had already started walking for his seat. "_Quietly_," Ms. Fox added, as she bent to sweep her papers together and up off the floor.

Blaine didn't look as though he could hear her, or cared to. He stared right at Kurt as he made his way to the back of the classroom, tossing his bag onto his desk, sliding into his chair, and leaning forward immediately to whisper to him again.

"Miss me?"

Kurt's heart felt like it was going to pound right out of his chest and onto his open poetry packet. He _had_ missed him, he realized. And he could tell by the confidence in the question that Blaine knew it, too. Knew Kurt had been aching to hear his voice again. Knew the sound of it sent a pleasant shiver up his spine, that he had to clutch the sides of his desk to keep from spinning around to stare at that perfect face. How was it possible that he had missed someone he hardly knew? Someone this pushy and infuriatingly arrogant? Someone whose attention he dreaded and craved in equal measure? This was not normal.

He did his best to ignore Blaine as Ms. Fox started talking about poems for two voices, but again, it was near impossible. His hands were on him again, and _oh_, that felt good. Great, even. Within moments, Blaine had untied his neckerchief and removed it, and Kurt should probably care, because it was expensive and completed his outfit, but now there was more skin for Blaine to run his fingers over, so fuck it. It had to go.

"I want to take the rest of your clothes off, too, baby," Blaine breathed in his ear, and there it was again, that feeling like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room. "I bet you'd look so good without them. Naked and hard for me."

Kurt inhaled a shocked breath. He was not going to get used to Blaine talking like that. Ever. And he was still talking, still painting explicit pictures in his mind with his words. Kurt felt himself blushing again, the familiar prickle of heat spreading through his neck and cheeks.

He could only barely register that Ms. Fox was telling the class to do something, and the rest of the students were scraping their desks and chairs together and flipping toward the back of their packets. Crap. He'd missed something. Again.

He leaned forward out of Blaine's reach for a moment to ask the girl in front of him what they were supposed to be working on. She scoffed at him.

"We're reading the poem on page 5 in pairs," she said irritably, and Kurt thought she had a pretty snooty attitude for someone with split ends and a penchant for anything made out of rayon, but he bit his tongue and turned to the correct page. It was a poem with two parts, so Kurt guessed they were supposed to assign them and read it out loud. Of course, since he hadn't been paying attention, he was left with one choice for a partner. Blaine.

He turned around to face him, and saw that same cocky grin on his face, one eyebrow raised in a lewd manner that suggested he really was thinking about Kurt without his clothes on. Kurt was struggling to remember what it was he had turned around for. Goddammit. Why couldn't he look at this gorgeous guy and think thoughts at the same time? It should not be this hard.

Oh, yeah. Poetry.

"So I guess you're working with me," he said, and it sounded dumb and obvious, but it's not like he could talk to Blaine the same way Blaine talked to him. That wasn't the dynamic. Blaine said the filthy things. Kurt just went home and dreamed about them later.

Blaine reached his hand out to touch Kurt's face. "I wish I was working _on_ you," he said, but Kurt suddenly leaned back and away from his outstretched fingers, horrified. He grasped Blaine's hand with his own and tugged it toward him, too appalled even to appreciate that this was the first time he was initiating the contact himself. He stared down at Blaine's knuckles, which were covered with cuts and scrapes, and then shoved the hand away from him in disgust.

"Souvenirs from your rumble with Karofsky?" he spat angrily, careful to keep his voice low so no one could tell they weren't working on the assignment.

Blaine smirked. "I gave him a makeover. I think he looks much prettier now, don't you? Purple really is his color."

Kurt just stared at him. He could handle the indecent, horny comments and the brazen sexual advances. He was beginning to like them, even. But he didn't want to hear jokes about hurting someone. It wasn't funny.

"You shouldn't have done that," Kurt hissed. "Not only was it wrong but you could get in serious trouble. Karofsky could press charges."

"He won't," Blaine said, shrugging. "And he had it coming."

"How do you know?" Kurt demanded.

"How do I know what?" Blaine said back, and that growl Kurt had heard in the locker room was sneaking back into his voice. "I know he won't report me because I told him if he did than I'd make sure the whole school knew what he did to deserve it, and that I found him outside of Scandals. And I know he had it coming because you told me so yourself."

Kurt couldn't even think what to say. Why did Blaine feel so protective of him anyway? They were barely even acquaintances. This was really none of his business. Kurt didn't ask him to go after Karofsky and...what? Defend his honor or something? The whole situation was absurd, and he was about to rattle off a bunch of reasons why knocking someone's teeth in wasn't the right way to solve problems, but then he was distracted.

"What's Scandals?" he asked, curious, and was taken aback when Blaine laughed.

"It's a gay bar in West Lima," he explained, the amused smirk back on his lips. "But don't ask me for directions, baby. It's no place for a sweet little virgin like you."

Kurt felt the flush in his face again, and he was getting angry. Blaine Anderson had done nothing but complicate his life and embarrass him since they'd met, and he was quickly growing tired of it.

"Look" he shot at him, sounding a lot more sure of himself than he actually felt. "I don't know you, and we're not friends, so I don't care what you do. Beat people up, hook up at Scandals, skip school, whatever. Just don't get in any more fights on my behalf, because you actually made things a lot worse for me, believe it or not."

Blaine wasn't smiling anymore. "How's that?"

Now it was Kurt's turn to laugh derisively. "Oh, no. You're not getting any more information out of me. We both know how that worked out for Karofsky last time."

Maybe he was imagining it, but Kurt thought that Blaine actually looked a little flustered himself now. He dropped his voice and leaned closer to Kurt, staring at him intently, almost desperate. "Hey. Don't be mad. I just...I didn't like the idea of someone else kissing you, okay?"

Kurt didn't know what to say. It's not as if the kiss with Karofsky had been at all romantic, but even if it was...

"That's no excuse," he said, glancing back and forth between Blaine's eyes, halfway suspecting this was some kind of joke. "I'm not...I don't..._belong_ to you or anything."

With that, the mischief was back in Blaine's hazel eyes, and in that smile that made Kurt forget how to speak. "Not yet, baby," he said smoothly, and he reached up to touch his face again. This time Kurt let him, leaning into his hand just slightly and only for a moment, before reaching up and pushing him away, gently this time.

"We're supposed to be reading this," he said, gesturing to the poem book on his desk. "I'm going to take the first part, and you can read the second, unless you'd rather do it the other way around."

Blaine smirked at him. "We can do it any way you want. I'm not picky."

Kurt just rolled his eyes and started reading. He was choosing to ignore Blaine's innuendo for the rest of class. At some point, he had to start getting some work done, and maybe if they focused on the poetry, Blaine would stop trying to turn everything into an opportunity to make him blush.

Or maybe not. Every time they reached one of Blaine's lines, the poem stopped being an exploration of human consciousness and instead became an oddly rhythmic, rhyming ode to the joys of oral sex. Kurt tried to be annoyed, but it was so consistently and hilariously clever and depraved that he ended up laughing instead. Before he knew it, the bell was ringing and the rest of his classmates were dragging their desks back into place. He put his things back in his bag and stood, waiting to see if maybe Blaine would leave with him, if they would have a real conversation now that they'd miraculously moved beyond just touching and suggestive remarks.

"Mr. Anderson. If I could see you for a moment," Ms. Fox called from the front of the room, and Kurt had never hated a teacher so much in his life.

Blaine grinned at the disappointed look on Kurt's face. "Sorry, baby," he murmured, and as the rest of the students filed by Ms. Fox's desk, he suddenly leaned toward him, opening his mouth against Kurt's throat and sliding his tongue over his skin. Kurt just stood there, trying to figure out how this could possibly be happening in the middle of their English classroom, and then trying to figure out why he would possibly care. Blaine was sucking hard on his neck, and his teeth dug into him slightly as his skin was pulled into his mouth, hot and wet and fantastic.

When he pulled away a moment later, Kurt couldn't stop staring at him, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, completely stunned. That sly, cocky smirk rested on Blaine's lips again, and now it was irritating in a whole new way. Because Kurt would much rather that mouth get back to what it had just been doing to him.

Something soft and silky was tickling his neck now, and it took Kurt a moment to figure out what was happening in his daze. Blaine was grinning as he tied Kurt's neckerchief back in place, giving the ends a little tug as he finished, and still looking very pleased with himself.

"See you later," he said, clearly enjoying Kurt's state of thrilled shock. He turned and walked toward Ms. Fox's desk, and Kurt tried to regain control over his limbs so he could get to fifth period. He actually banged into the side of the door on his way out of the room, still gazing at Blaine's back where he stood talking to Ms. Fox. She was probably berating him for being late to class that afternoon.

Kurt walked down the hallway in a sort of trance, his hand resting on his neckerchief over the spot that had played host to Blaine's lips only minutes earlier. He wondered vaguely if he'd find a hickey there later, if that was why Blaine had chosen this particular spot. So he could easily hide the mark he made. How considerate of him.

He was so caught up in reliving the last five minutes of his life that he wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to where he was going or the other students in the halls, and as he turned a corner he plowed right into someone else. Someone huge and hulking and wearing a letterman jacket.

Puck had not been exaggerating. The whole right side of Dave Karofsky's face was puffy and purple, an ugly yellow tinge bled in around the edges of a massive bruise that spread from his temple to his jaw. One of Karofsky's eyes was almost completely swollen shut, and his bottom lip was fat and misshapen. Kurt was reeling as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that the person who had softly traced the back of his neck for the last hour and the person who had beaten Karofsky until he was almost unrecognizable were one and the same.

Well. If that was what happened to a person's face when they rubbed Blaine Anderson the wrong way, Kurt was glad he'd landed on his good side.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** And here's another chapter! A little late, but thanks for your patience and for all the kind words last time. Nothing inspires the writer in me more than hearing how much you're all enjoying this so far! Just so you know, I think we'll be looking at Mondays or Tuesdays for updates, typically. I work two jobs, so it takes me about a week to find time to sit down and pound out 7,000 words. Thanks again for reading, lovies.

* * *

**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 3**

* * *

Kurt stood staring up at Karofsky in complete shock. Under normal circumstances, he would have turned tail and bolted in the opposite direction, but he couldn't make himself move or look away when Karofsky's face resembled the pork tenderloin Carole made for dinner once a week (which was always too dry). Stranger still was the fact that Karofsky was looking at him with an expression of absolute panic on the side of his face that was still capable of emoting.

Um. What? Didn't Karofsky know that _he_ was the scary one?

Kurt had opened his mouth to say something – though exactly what, he didn't know – when Karofsky suddenly threw his hands up defensively, as if he were being held at gunpoint, and backed away in an awfully big hurry. Maybe all the blows to his head had induced some kind of brain damage, because really, what other explanation could there be for a mean linebacker hauling down the hallway in apparent terror at the sight of Kurt Hummel?

It all made sense about three seconds later, when Kurt felt an arm slide around his middle and a hot breath in his ear and that voice – that _voice_ – was whispering to him again. Ah. Karofsky had seen Blaine right behind him, and probably felt that one ass-kicking was enough. Understandable.

"Don't worry, baby," Blaine was murmuring to him. "I made sure he won't ever bother you again."

Kurt tensed in Blaine's grasp. He could feel all the other students staring as they passed, stunned by the overtly possessive way one boy was holding another, or maybe just by the fact that Blaine Anderson was standing with another kid at all. Up until now, McKinley's student body had only ever seen him on his own, brooding and looking serious. Kurt was willing to bet that the sight of one of the most notoriously troubled teens at the school smiling and speaking low into someone's ear was new. And the fact that the someone was a boy – Kurt – was probably even more surprising. He was astonished himself. He had figured Blaine would keep the lustful touches and words in the back row of their English class, where they would be unobserved and thus less likely to attract any hostile attention.

Of course, he hadn't known until about a minute ago what Blaine could do to someone who had pissed him off. And that was another reason he was a little uneasy with Blaine's hands on him. He wasn't exactly thrilled to find out that the raging sexual urges were handily matched by plain, old-fashioned rage.

Kurt turned and looked at that sly grin and those hazel eyes, which were tracing over Kurt's face and lingering for an especially long moment on his lips. And, okay, when he was looking at him like that he certainly didn't _seem_ dangerous, but those bruises on Karofsky's face said otherwise, and he shifted slightly, shrugging and slipping out of Blaine's reach and up against the lockers behind him. Then he took a quick glance around the hallway, hoping that none of his friends had seen how close they'd been to each other, because news seemed to spread like wildfire among the members of New Directions, and he really didn't feel like trying to explain this strange, quasi-relationship to anyone when he didn't understand it himself.

When he turned back to Blaine he was alarmed to see that his features had clouded over, and he was jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans moodily as he stepped away and glared at him.

"You're afraid of me," he said, and his voice was nothing like the smooth, soothing hum it had been a moment ago. It was disappointed, maybe even sad, and there was an almost angry edge in it now that hadn't been there before.

"I'm not afraid," Kurt said, even though he kind of was, actually, and then he was reaching hesitantly for Blaine's arm. The aged, faded leather under his fingers was oddly reassuring. "I'm just – I – Karofsky looks...terrible. I wasn't expecting – I mean – you really hurt him."

Blaine looked down at Kurt's hand on his arm, and Kurt hurriedly pulled it away, suddenly feeling like the gesture was too bold, or too sweet, or too _something_ for whatever the two of them had going on right now. Blaine must not have thought so, though, because a second later he had Kurt's face in both hands and was staring at him seriously, the storm in his eyes shifting, passing, warming.

"Get used to it, baby. From now on, anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way is gonna regret it."

Kurt was vaguely aware that the bell for fifth period was ringing, and the hallway was emptying again, and this kid could throw punches as well as Kurt could throw themed dinner parties, but _God_, the way Blaine was looking at him. Like he was important. Beautiful. Worth protecting. And they hardly even knew each other. Want had started to sneak into his eyes again, and his thumbs were stroking along Kurt's jawline, tipping his head back until it was leaning against the lockers behind him.

"Some people might say _you're_ looking at me the wrong way," Kurt heard himself say, and as the words left his mouth he was torn between feeling proud for finally being able to think of a clever response under that gaze, and _shit_, why would he say that? Who was he kidding? He loved the way Blaine was looking at him.

Blaine could obviously read his mind. He was smiling again when he answered him. "Some people. Not you."

Kurt shook his head slightly in Blaine's hands. "No," he breathed, and then blushed at the admission. "No. Not me."

Blaine let go of his face then, and his arms dropped down until he was holding onto Kurt's sides instead, his thumbs on his hips now and his eyes still intent even as that confident grin took its place on his lips. His perfect, _perfect_ lips.

"I'm, uh – I'm late for class," Kurt said faintly. Breathing was hard with Blaine's hands gripping his hips like that.

Blaine let go of him and reached for his bag, which had been carelessly tossed to the floor when he'd decided he'd rather hold on to Kurt than his school books. He slung it over his shoulder and walked backwards to the door at the end of the hall that led out into the parking lot, producing a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lighting up on the way.

"Go ahead, baby," he said, smirking at him and somehow managing a sure, cocky stride even though he was moving backwards. "Learn something. I was just leaving anyway."

Kurt stared. "Where are you going? Don't you have class?"

Blaine stopped about a foot from the door, taking a drag on his cigarette and exhaling as he answered, the puffs of smoke dancing out around his words as he spoke. "I only have one class with you."

"So...so you're just going to leave?" Kurt blinked. So that was why he hadn't seen Blaine at all before their English class. He had only bothered showing up for fourth period. And he had only bothered because Kurt was in the class, too.

Blaine shrugged and took another long drag. "Unless you give me a good reason to stay," he smirked and walked back to him, leaning close and whispering the smoke into Kurt's face. It was strangely exhilarating. "I'm not getting behind another desk today unless you're bent over it."

Kurt could feel his pulse picking up pace in his veins again. For the first time in his life, he wished he wasn't such a visual thinker, because now he could see himself alone with Blaine in an empty classroom, doing things he'd never even thought about before, and all he knew was that he needed to think of something else to say before Blaine did, because he was about one more whispered word from having an erection in the middle of McKinley.

"What – uh – what did Ms. Fox want? After class?" Kurt asked, and it was probably pretty clear that this was a desperate attempt to change the subject, but oh well, because it was working. Blaine's smirk was replaced with a contemptuous frown, and he brought his cigarette to his lips and sucked on it gloomily, before letting the smoke out in an ill-tempered huff.

"She gave me all the homework for the past semester, since I've been to class a grand total of three times. Said she'd overlook my '_frequent absenteeism_' if I turn it all in before the end of the year." He gave a harsh laugh, as if he wouldn't dream of spending his time trying to pass English.

Kurt raised his eyebrows. This was a far fairer offer than a student would have gotten at Dalton. In fact, over there you were on academic probation if you failed to turn in two homework assignments, and five months' worth of absences would have landed you out on your ass.

"That sounds like a pretty good deal to me," he said, and Blaine scoffed at him. "No, seriously. If you had to take the class all over again next year, you probably wouldn't be able to graduate on time. You'd be shy an English credit."

Blaine laughed humorlessly again. "Graduating is not a realistic goal for me at this point," he said. "I've missed _all_ of my classes. Passing English Lit isn't going to make much of a difference."

"You must want to graduate," Kurt said, entirely unwilling to believe that anyone would choose to flunk out of high school and be stuck in Lima for the rest of his life when there was another option. "Otherwise why would you even bother coming to school?"

"I came to see you, baby," Blaine said, reaching out for him again, his cigarette held between his fingers, but Kurt batted his arm away gently. Now Blaine was the one trying to change the subject, but he wasn't going to let him. He wanted to help.

"Maybe today you did," Kurt allowed, even though the idea still seemed absurd to him. "But you were here on Friday, too, and that was before you met me."

Blaine was frustrated now, running his fingers through his curls distractedly and almost shouting when he answered him, his voice loud and tense. "Who cares why I was here? School is a complete waste of my time anyway. And even if I did give a shit – which I _don't_ – it's almost May and there's no way for me to catch up now, so fuck it."

He was suddenly looking upset and uncomfortable, and it was such a far cry from his usual cool, sure demeanor that Kurt had the urge to try to calm him down, to put him at ease. He reached up and held Blaine's face, and it probably wasn't as sexy as when Blaine did it to him, because his hand was shaking and he was terrified that this was the wrong thing to do, that Blaine would shove him roughly away like Finn had when he'd made a similar gesture to him a year ago.

But he didn't. He just stared at him with that guardedness Kurt had seen in his eyes when he'd first spotted him across the courtyard. Blaine was searching for something in Kurt's face. What it was and whether or not he found it, Kurt didn't know. He only knew that this kid had stood up for him without a moment's hesitation, without needing convincing or goading or even a good reason. He'd found out that someone had been hurting him and he'd put a stop to it, and now Kurt felt like maybe he owed him one.

"I'll help you," he said quietly, his fingers still trembling against Blaine's skin, which was warm and slightly rough, the complete opposite of his own. And while he spent so much time making sure his own face was smooth and perfect, he liked the way this one felt even better. He was just deciding he wanted to keep his hand there for the length of an eternity when Blaine turned his head away, shooting him a wary glance and bringing his cigarette to his mouth again.

"I don't want your help," he growled, as Kurt let his arm fall awkwardly back to his side. "I don't need you feeling sorry for me. I don't need _anyone_ feeling sorry for me."

"Who says I feel sorry for you?" Kurt countered. "It's your own fault if you fail your junior year. You should have been coming to class all this time. But if you want to do something about it now, you should, and I'll help you."

Blaine seemed to consider this, but he still looked closed off and suspicious, like he couldn't understand why anyone would care whether or not he made it through high school. "How exactly am I supposed to make up an entire semester in a month?"

"I don't know," Kurt shrugged. "You could start by coming to school tomorrow. The whole day, not just English. And then maybe talk to your teachers, see if you can work something out with them like with Ms. Fox."

"I've never said two words that weren't _piss_ and _off_ to any of them," Blaine said, and he sounded like he didn't think now was the time to start, either.

"Oh, it'll be easy. Just try to look really, really ashamed and remorseful," Kurt poked his lower lip out to demonstrate, and was silently thrilled when Blaine's eyes widened at the sight of his pout. "It'll be a ton of work if they let you make it up, but we can do it together."

Blaine quirked an eyebrow, one side of his mouth slowly lifting into a smile. Kurt rolled his eyes and cursed his poor choice of words. He knew exactly what Blaine was about to say.

"You won't have to work at all when we do it, baby. You just have to lie there and look pretty and I'll do the rest."

Yup. That was precisely what he'd been expecting to hear. But it still made his cheeks feel hot and his heart beat a little harder in his chest, and if those words didn't come back to him in his dreams tonight he'd be very, very surprised.

"_Anyway_," he said loudly, and Blaine chuckled at him. "I just transferred from a private school. The classes were much harder there than here, so I'm bored most of the time anyway. We can work in the library for a couple of hours after school every day, and you'll be caught up in no time."

Blaine was smirking, which meant he at least was in a better mood than he had been when his academic problems had first come up, but probably also that he wasn't finished with the lewd remarks. "If you want to spend a few hours alone with me every day, all you have to do is ask."

"At school. In the library. And we have to actually _work_." Kurt reiterated, because this was not going to become something else. Something like English class had been the past couple of days, where the two of them just touched each other and completely disregarded their assignments. It most certainly was not. "I'll just be your study buddy for a few weeks and then you can go back to chain-smoking, or defacing public property, or whatever it is you normally do in your free time."

Blaine laughed. "All right then, Hummel." The hand that wasn't holding his cigarette found its way back to Kurt's hip, and his fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, tugging Kurt away from the lockers so that they were standing only inches apart. "Tomorrow I'll bring a number 2 pencil, and you can bring _this_." The hand slid into Kurt's back pocket and squeezed aggressively, and Kurt inhaled a sharp breath, his mouth falling open in shock. No one had ever touched him like this before, and nothing had ever felt so fantastic.

Blaine must have found his surprise amusing, because he was giving him that mocking grin again as he let go.

"You might want to close that, baby," he teased, tapping the bottom of Kurt's chin with his forefinger and nudging his mouth shut. "You're giving me ideas."

He walked again for the door, staring at Kurt until his back bumped the handle, and then with a wink and one last puff of his cigarette, he was gone, and Kurt was left alone in the hallway, wondering how on earth his life had suddenly become so complicated.

* * *

This was a bad idea.

He couldn't even say for sure why he had agreed to this whole thing in the first place. He had butted heads with just about every teacher he had from day one at McKinley. He lit his cigarettes in class, scrawled obscenities across his desks in permanent marker, and answered any requests for his participation with a snide '_fuck you_'.

But come on. It's what they all expected anyway. He could tell by the tension that settled in them as soon as he walked in the room. They thought they knew him. Or at least, they thought they knew his type. They took one look at his leather jacket, his piercings, and the holes in his jeans and braced themselves for another unmotivated student at best and at worst, trouble.

Fine, then. He'd given them both. And after about a week of being sent to see that goon Principal Figgins and wasting several hours of his life in detention, he'd decided that he had better things to be bothered with than school. His teachers had probably been as relieved as he was when he'd stopped showing up.

Then, fuck. He'd gotten that phone call from his dad last week, and it was humiliating, how excited he'd been . How hopeful. How nervous and expectant of something – anything – good to come from it. Well, surprise, surprise. He'd been wrong. It had just been more bad news and another argument. Of course it had.

But it had been that argument that forced his ass back to school, and even if he hated every minute of it – which he pretty much did – it had been worth it. Because now he knew Kurt Hummel. Or wanted to know him. Wanted to know what his sweat tasted like. What he looked like underneath the designer clothes. How hard and how fast he would come once Blaine finally got his hands on him. The sounds he would make when he did.

He _had_ to know all of this. And more.

So he'd spent the day sucking up to his teachers, and it had been unbearable. Mr. Miller, who taught Statistics, had droned on and on for nearly the entire class period about personal responsibility and the consequences of one's actions before finally agreeing to let Blaine make up all the tests he'd missed, though he'd still have to take zeros on the homework. The worst one by far, though, had been Mrs. Yeoman, his World History teacher, who'd pulled him out into the hall and asked seriously if there were problems at home. He'd wanted to laugh, because man, if only she knew, but he didn't think making light of her concern would help his case at all, and it had been made perfectly clear to him that this was his last fucking chance in Ohio.

Miraculously, almost every single one of his teachers had taken his _I'm-sorry-I-know-I-haven't-done-my-best-but-I'd-really-like-an-opportunity-to-make-up-for-it-so-please-let-me-know-if-there's-anything-I-can-do-for-extra-credit_ act to heart, and had been understanding and helpful. All of them had given him pages from his textbooks to read and summarize, lists of vocabulary words to learn, and packets of essay questions to answer. Well, all of them except for Mrs. McCann, but he'd kind of seen that one coming. He probably shouldn't have put that dead snake in her desk back in October.

So now he had a ton of fucking work to do and very little time to do it, and he couldn't even focus on caring because the only thing that had been on his mind for the past four days was Kurt's naked body and what he could do to it if the right opportunity presented itself. Well, this was probably as good as it was going to get.

He _needed_ to spend time with Kurt, even if the only way to do it was to spend hours poring over textbooks and schoolwork he really couldn't care less about. It felt like a drug addiction. He'd spent the whole first half of that day in school barely aware of what was happening around him, scratching at his arms in frustration and impatience and digging his fingernails so deep into his own skin that he almost drew blood. Waiting for fourth period had been like torture, and when he'd gotten to the classroom before anyone else he'd had about seventeen panic attacks as the next seventeen students filed into the room, and none of them were Kurt. Then finally, there he was, dressed immaculately and perfectly erect, as always, and it was like Blaine could breathe again when those bright blue eyes sought him and found him at once. Kurt's (perfect) ass had barely touched his chair before Blaine was pawing at him, unable to control himself, and it was everything he could do not to make good on every filthy promise he'd ever made in Kurt's ear right there in the back of the classroom.

And now he was here, standing outside the school's library on Tuesday afternoon, looking in at that boy, who was already at a table with a pencil tucked behind his ear as he leafed through the pages of a book. He was fucking beautiful.

But this was stupid. What was he even doing here? A week ago nothing could have convinced him to show up to McKinley during actual school hours, and now he was hanging around after class, seriously considering spending half of his night in the library, working on a tower of homework that would probably stack as high as his eyeballs. He should just go. Fuck this.

He glanced into the library again. Kurt was biting his lip at his table, looking around anxiously and tapping his pencil against his notebook in agitation. He was waiting for him.

No, wait. _Fuck_. He was getting up. He looked irritated and upset and like he might cry as he shoved his things back into his bag, and Blaine was suddenly torn between rushing in there and begging him not to go and standing still and watching as he stormed out to get on with his life. It would probably be better that way. Blaine was complicated, angry, and tended to disappoint everyone who ever took part in his life. His mom. His dad. His brother. Andrew.

Blaine swallowed a lump in his throat and pushed all of those people from his mind. He knew how to deal with this kind of pain. Knew to set it on fire with rage and let it burn, let it become a hatred so black that he couldn't even remember a time when he'd thought of those faces and felt anything other than loathing. It was much easier to hate someone than to miss them. He should know.

But _Christ_, Kurt had this way of looking at him. Like he didn't understand him but was willing to try. Like he'd never met anyone so fascinating in his life. Like Blaine was the best part of his day. And even if this was a mistake, he couldn't give that up. No fucking way in hell.

* * *

About twenty seconds after the afternoon bell announced the end of classes, Kurt was settling into a chair in the library, taking out his poetry packet from English class and a few books he'd brought from home. A collection of love poems by Pablo Neruda, _The 100 Best Poems of All Time_, and _Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats_ by T.S. Eliot, one of his personal favorites. He figured it would be best to make sure they kept up with their current assignments first when they met to study, because the last thing he wanted was to end up as behind as Blaine in his classwork.

He picked up the book of love poems and started to thumb through it. Ms. Fox had told them to pick a poem they liked and circle the author's uses of metaphor, simile, alliteration, assonance, and rhyme. It wouldn't take long, and then they could get started on the rest of Blaine's work, assuming any of his teachers besides Ms. Fox had agreed to give him a reprieve.

After reading for a few minutes, he glanced toward the door, wondering where Blaine was. He hoped he hadn't forgotten. But no. They had just talked a couple of hours ago, and even if most of the talking had been Blaine leaning forward in his seat to continue making pornographic suggestions in his ear, Kurt had managed a rather breathy sentence affirming their meeting after school. He would be here.

Twenty more minutes passed, and Kurt was still alone in the library, trying to work on his poetry assignment but too distracted by Blaine's absence to stare at the packet in front of him for longer than five seconds at a time before once again checking his watch and looking toward the door. He _should_ be here.

A moment more of breathless anticipation, and then Kurt was just mad. Guess what? He had a life. He had friends. He had his own things to worry about. School and Glee and Prom and Nationals. And if Blaine Anderson wasn't even going to bother showing up when he was going out of his way to help him, well, then, forget it.

He slammed his notebook shut abruptly and stood, roughly shoving his things back into his bag and trying to remember that this was not his problem, and what did it matter to him anyway if Blaine failed every goddamn one of his classes? Good. Then next year he could just repeat his junior year – if he didn't drop out all together – and Kurt would be a senior and he'd never have to look at that stupid, beautiful face again in his life.

Kurt marched to the library door, ready to wrench it open and stomp off, but it opened before he'd even stretched out a hand for the doorknob, and Blaine was there, looking almost panicked at the sight of Kurt about to leave. Kurt tried to push past him and into the hallway, but Blaine shifted over in the doorway, holding on to either side of the door to block his exit.

He wasn't wearing his leather jacket today. Just a white t-shirt screen-printed with a band logo Kurt didn't recognize. It was a touch too small on him, and so Kurt was more frustrated than he normally might have been as he tried to nudge past Blaine's arms. The tight sleeves were showing off his biceps, and as much as Kurt wanted to shove Blaine for being late, he also kind of wanted to curl up against him and let those arms wrap around him. So he ended up doing something in between, knocking his fists into Blaine's chest and then just leaning forward on his own arms and sighing angrily. Why did he always feel so damn confused around this guy?

One of Blaine's hands left the door to press into Kurt's lower back, bringing him just a little closer. He whispered in his ear again, but this time was different. Not cocky, not dirty, not sarcastic.

"Sorry, baby," and he sounded like he meant it. Kurt leaned back so he could look at him, and for the briefest of seconds, saw an apology in his eyes, before he was grinning smugly and snaking his hand down towards Kurt's back pockets. "I'm glad you waited for me."

Kurt pulled away before Blaine could get a grip on his ass, because if that happened he really wouldn't be able to think straight. "I'm here to help you," he said, but his voice was less indignant than he meant for it to be, because he'd just been leaning against Blaine's body and it had been really, really pleasant. "Next time I won't even wait five minutes, so unless you want to do this on your own, you could try to be more punctual."

Blaine pulled a repentant face, but this time it was a joke. "It won't happen again, sir."

Kurt smiled a little despite himself, and then turned back toward the table he had just vacated, pulling out a chair and getting settled again. Blaine followed him and made to sit in the chair on his right, but Kurt hastily threw his bag in it before he had the chance.

"Oh, no," Kurt said to Blaine's raised eyebrows, nodding to the chair across from him. "You sit over there. I know you won't get anything done if you sit that close."

Blaine grinned as he sat down, wrapping his feet around the legs of Kurt's chair and pulling it closer until Kurt's chest bumped the edge of the table, knocking his breath out of him. Blaine leaned forward and held Kurt's knees under the table, and his hands were sliding farther up as he murmured, "Fine by me, baby. I can get plenty done from here."

Kurt had to use his arms to push his chair out of Blaine's reach, because his fingers had been dangerously close to feeling him through his jeans, and he was not ready for that. He had to admit that the touching was fun, but if Blaine had gone there after all of his suggestive comments, he would have found out just how excited Kurt was to be alone with him in this library. And the embarrassment would have killed him.

"Did you talk to the rest of your teachers today?" he asked shakily, ignoring the fact that Blaine was laughing and probably knew exactly what had Kurt so uncomfortable.

Blaine nodded, the smile on his face fading into something more like dread. "Most of them said they'd take make-up work if I wanted to do it, but McCann said no and not to bother coming back to her class, because I've already failed it."

"Oh," Kurt said, and then tried to look on the bright side. "Well at least that's an extra hour you can use to study."

"Or you could blow off class, too, baby," Blaine said, "and then I could blow _you_ off."

Kurt scowled at him while he dug his English homework back out of his bag, and he was blushing as he attempted to change the subject.

"Do you have that poetry packet Ms. Fox handed out on Friday? We should do today's homework before we start on the rest of it."

Blaine leaned down to dig in his bag, which he'd left on the floor, and wrestled out the stapled stack of paper. It was a crumpled heap, and Kurt made a mental note to help Blaine organize his things a little better at some point.

"So I guess just pick one and circle all the literary techniques that were listed on the board today," Kurt instructed, when Blaine just sort of stared blankly at the packet.

"I'm usually distracted in English class," Blaine said, smirking. "Which is your fault, by the way."

"_My_ fault?" Kurt hissed incredulously. "You're kidding me, right? I can't even count the number of times I've missed what Ms. Fox is saying because you're describing the vivid details of an imaginary sex life right in my ear."

Blaine laughed and roved his eyes over Kurt's body. "It's not imaginary, baby. It's imminent."

Kurt scoffed and then explained what they'd been told to do in English class that day. He had to go over it three separate times, because Blaine kept reaching across the table to trace along his arms or rubbing his calves with his toes under the table rather than paying attention, but finally he seemed to grasp what he was supposed to be working on, and Kurt handed him a highlighter so he could get started.

But another fifteen minutes ticked by and Blaine still hadn't done anything apart from flip from page one of the packet all the way to the back about four times, apparently struggling to find a poem he liked.

"Here," Kurt took Blaine's poetry packet from him and flipped toward the middle until he found the one he was looking for, then slid it back across the table. "Use this one. It has good examples of everything. There's even onomatopoeia."

Blaine jutted his neck forward and raised an eyebrow, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard him. "Is that something I should be paying attention to or were you just sneezing?"

"It's another poetic device. Onomatopoeia."

"What the fuck is that?"

"It's the use of words that suggest or imitate a sound or a noise. Like _bang. Clank. Plop. Boom._"

Blaine tilted his head and looked curious, like he really did want to learn. "_Boom_?"

"Yeah. You know, _boom_! Like if the author wanted to describe an explosion or fireworks."

"Fireworks. Got it," Blaine said, uncapping his highlighter and dragging lines of fluorescent ink across the paper. Kurt leaned across the table to see what he had found, and watched as the words "_tlot-tlot_" and "_clang_" were streaked with yellow.

"See?" Kurt said. "This isn't so bad. You're catching on already."

Blaine glanced up at him, his highlighter still poised over the poem. "I'm not stupid," he said, and he sounded like he might be a little annoyed by the obvious attempt to encourage him. "I just don't give a shit."

Kurt rolled his eyes as Blaine bent back over the packet. "I never said you were stupid. And I know you care a little. There must be some reason you're doing this."

"You," Blaine said simply, still sliding his highlighter here and there through the poem.

Kurt had to bite his lip to keep from smiling as he went back to his own work. He knew he shouldn't be flattered. Blaine should want to be here so that he could pass, not because of some misguided hope that something was going to happen between them. Because Kurt had several reasons why nothing ever would.

It was just that he couldn't really remember what they were right now.

"Done," Blaine said triumphantly a few minutes later, slamming his highlighter down on the table and leaning back in his chair. Kurt took the packet again and looked over the poem, expecting to have to point out a few things that Blaine had missed. But as far as he could tell Blaine had found everything there was to find.

"So you are," he said, giving the packet back and nodding, impressed. "What's next?"

Blaine lifted his bag from the floor and set it on the table with a heavy thud. Kurt's eyes grew wide as Blaine unloaded it, pulling out a stack of textbooks, several binders crammed full of class notes, folders, note cards, a pack of cigarettes, a couple of ballpoint pens missing lids, and more worksheets than Kurt had ever seen in his entire life. Blaine turned the bag upside down over the table and shook it, and a couple of crumpled up gum wrappers fell out onto the pile of assignments as he looked up at Kurt, his expression a perfect mirror of what Kurt was feeling. Unimaginably overwhelmed.

"I don't really know where to start," Blaine muttered, looking at the huge pile of homework and then at Kurt with raised eyebrows, as though hoping Kurt would be able to sort this mess out for him.

Kurt reached hesitantly for the nearest stack of paper. It was homework from Ms. Fox's class; questions from the first chapter of one of the novels that was assigned in 11th grade, _The Outsiders_ by S. E. Hinton. Kurt hadn't been at McKinley for this, but he had read the book before, so maybe this would be a good place to start.

"Let's just keep working on English," Kurt suggested. "Did Ms. Fox give you a copy of this book?"

Blaine squinted at the sheet of questions in Kurt's hand and shook his head. "She just gave me the assignments. I didn't know I needed anything else."

Kurt stood up from his chair. "There's probably one in here somewhere. I'll go find it. Why don't you read over the questions so you'll know what to look for when you're reading? The next page is vocab, so I'll get you a dictionary, too."

He left Blaine at the table and walked over to the fiction section, scanning the shelves of books until he got to 'H' for Hinton and pulling out a worn copy of _The Outsiders_. Then he turned for the reference books in the back corner. He was searching for the most recent edition of Webster's dictionary when he suddenly felt like someone was watching him, and he turned around to find Blaine a few feet behind him, staring.

Kurt was about to scold him for abandoning his work already, but something about the look on his face stopped him. His eyes were gazing right into Kurt's, and he seemed astounded and moved and almost scared, not at all the swaggering, devil-may-care boy that Kurt had started to get used to. They just looked at each other in complete silence for a long moment, one of Kurt's hands frozen on a dictionary still on the shelf and the other tightly grasping the small novel. He felt like he should move or say something, but he didn't know exactly how to respond to the intensely admiring way Blaine was watching him.

Blaine took a few steps forward until they were only about a foot apart. He grasped Kurt's shoulders and squared them so they were facing each other, then took the book from his hand and set it aside. His eyes never left Kurt's once, and Kurt was so lost in them that it took him by surprise a moment later when Blaine started to speak.

"Thank you," he said, quiet and serious, and there was an awkward pause before he continued, even quieter, "No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

Kurt shrugged. "It's not a big deal - " he began, but Blaine was stepping even closer and reaching his hands up to hold Kurt's waist, and then he was pressed between the bookshelf behind him and Blaine's hips, which were now against his own. Just barely but _still_.

"It is," Blaine whispered, because they were so close that he didn't need to talk any louder. "I think you're fucking great."

And then Blaine leaned forward, slowly and deliberately, and kissed him.

It was not at all how he imagined it would be with a boy who had spent most of their time together telling him how badly he wanted to fuck him. This was not a pushy, presumptuous, invasive kiss, like the only other one Kurt had shared with a guy before now. No.

This was soft. Sweet. Careful. A gentle press of lips to lips that felt brand new and wonderfully familiar at the same time. Like he'd been waiting for this exact moment from the time he first opened his eyes in this world. His head was spinning and his heart felt light, and to keep himself from falling or maybe just to get even closer, he twined his arms around Blaine's shoulders and gave in completely to the will of his lips. They tasted like nicotine, and he'd be damned if he'd ever tasted anything more delicious in his life.

It was only a moment before Blaine was pulling away. Not far, just enough to give Kurt an inch to breathe. He'd needed it, he realized, as he sucked in a deep, trembling lungful of air. Apparently he'd once again forgotten the importance of oxygen with Blaine so close. He tried to take a moment to recover, but then their eyes met, and oh, he was never, _ever_ going to recover. He didn't want to.

"_Boom_," he breathed against Blaine's lips, and his heart leapt when Blaine laughed and leaned their foreheads together. _Boom._ Because despite the fact that he was standing up against a row of dictionaries and literary reference books, there were no other words in his head right now. Blaine Anderson had just kissed him, and there were definitely fireworks. It was everything all those poets said about first kisses. At least he thought it was. He couldn't remember any of the exact words or phrases that had been used over the centuries to describe this feeling, but he was pretty sure that every single one of them came up shy, because he had not been prepared for this.

The way his lips were tingling. The warm shiver running through him. The heat in his chest and his cheeks and his stomach. The urgent, insane desire to do that again and again and forever until he died from either happiness or starvation.

"Told you I would kiss you," Blaine said then, and his dark, deep hazel eyes were watching him closely, that same familiar fire burning in them as he grinned slyly at the shocked, pleased, awed expression Kurt knew was on his own face. "And now I'm going to do it again. But this time, baby, I want you to open your mouth."

Kurt parted his lips, and a moment later Blaine's tongue was dancing with his, and wow. Yes. _Boom_.

Fireworks.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So here we are. This is the chapter I've been waiting to get to. The tail end is the thing that started me writing this in the first place. The - um - _exchange_ that these two flirt with is something this story will be focused on and the inspiration for the very obvious title. I hope you like it. Thanks for reading and pretty pretty please let me know what you think. xo

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**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 4**

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Kissing, as it turned out, was the greatest thing ever.

Really.

Kurt should know. He'd now spent three straight days after school in the library doing little else, and it hadn't taken long for Blaine to introduce him to virtually every kind of kiss imaginable. Some were soft and sweet, like that first one in the reference section on Tuesday. Others were heated and hurried and needy, their lips crashing together desperately the second the school librarian, Mrs. Carlisle, stepped out to refill her coffee. Still more were artful and seductive. Kurt's valiant efforts to keep them focused on schoolwork were really no match for Blaine, who would mouth the skin of his throat hotly in protest until Kurt gave in and let Blaine have his lips instead.

It had taken them over an hour to make it back to their table with a dictionary and that copy of _The Outsiders_ the first time. The next day, Kurt had subconsciously chosen to sit in a corner that was entirely out of Mrs. Carlisle's line of vision, and they'd barely gotten through one Civics assignment before Blaine pointedly set down his pencil and reached for Kurt's face instead. After about ten minutes of half-hearted resistance from Kurt they were right back where they'd left off the day before. And yesterday they hadn't even bothered to unpack a single book from their bags when they sat down, because come on, that would have been a waste of their time.

One thing Kurt had discovered over the past few days was that kissing was a lot more...well, _complicated_ than he imagined it would be. He felt like there were a lot of factors he had to keep in mind while his mouth was tangoing with Blaine's. Things he'd never considered before. Like how to tilt his face so that their noses didn't bump each other, and whether or not to use his tongue, and what to do with his hands, and when exactly he was supposed to make time to breathe.

Luckily for Kurt, Blaine was a patient and willing teacher. He'd traded the lewd sexual suggestions for helpful instructions, humming low in his ear when he wanted Kurt to do something specific. _Lick your lips. Open your mouth. Let me in, baby. _And every time he did what Blaine said, he was rewarded with the new greatest moment of his life. That boy knew exactly what to do to him and when to do it and how, and if Kurt had thought that singing was the most amazing thing a person could do with their lips before, Blaine had changed his mind.

But now the first week of their study sessions was just about over, and they'd accomplished absolutely nothing. Worse still than Blaine making zero headway on the mountain of make-up work he had to do before the end of the school year was the fact that Kurt was in danger of falling behind himself. He'd gone from finishing all of his assignments in class with time to spare to scrambling to fill in answers on his homework minutes before it was due. Because when he wasn't kissing Blaine, he was thinking about kissing Blaine, or dreaming about kissing Blaine, or drawing Blaine's face, which he'd seen incredibly close now, and paying an almost psychotic level of attention to getting the lips just right, because _goddamn_, they were beautiful and magical and had turned his whole world upside down.

He was pretty sure everyone around him could tell something was different about him, too. Though, thank goodness, they didn't seem able to put their fingers on exactly what it was. Carole had commented on the smile that had been resting on his face almost constantly at dinner the night before, and he had hastily claimed he was so happy to be back at McKinley that he could hardly contain his joy. Finn wanted to know why he kept staying after school even when they didn't have Glee rehearsals, and he had explained that he wanted to make sure he was caught up on everything that would be on the finals at the end of the semester, since he'd missed so many months of classes while at Dalton. His dad asked why he was wearing scarves and turtlenecks everyday despite the climbing temperatures, and he obviously couldn't tell him the truth – that he was using them to cover up the bruises sucked into his skin by a troubled transfer student with a violent temper and intense sexual urges – so he'd announced firmly that style shouldn't be dictated by the weather, and the subject had been dropped. Mercedes had been even more observant over lunch at school, asking why in the hell his lips were so swollen and chapped when she knew the kind of time and devotion he gave to skin care. He'd miraculously come up with an excuse then, too, asserting that he must be allergic to something in the new lip balm he'd been trying out and laughing nervously while Mercedes squinted suspiciously at him before shrugging and turning back to her potater tots.

And English class? Forget about it. Kurt had hardly been able to pay attention _before_ Blaine had started sweetly torturing him with his lips everyday after school, but now it was pointless to even try. He could only focus on Ms. Fox for about twenty seconds after the bell rang before the temptation to turn around and stare at Blaine became too much, and he ended up swiveled in his seat and gazing at him for the majority of the class period. Mostly Blaine would ignore him in class now, pretending to pay rapt attention to Ms. Fox and not meeting his eyes once. Kurt might have assumed he was losing interest, but a playful light behind his eyes and a slight lift at the corner of his mouth gave him away. Blaine knew he was driving Kurt crazy, and he was enjoying every minute it.

Today had been no exception. Kurt had spent the entirety of English mesmerized by a couple of stray curls resting across Blaine's forehead and the barely-there shade of stubble on his cheeks while Blaine stared straight ahead, listening to Ms. Fox and scribbling in his poetry packet. He had ignored Kurt right up until the bell rang, but as the rest of the students made for the door and Kurt reluctantly looked away from him to gather his things and head to fifth period, Blaine had leaned forward and placed his lips briefly against the back of his neck. Kurt could feel him inhaling deeply, breathing him in before murmuring, "See you soon, baby," and then slinging his heavy bag over his shoulder and striding from the room.

And now Kurt was waiting. _God_. How much longer until this day was over? What class was this again? History? Dammit. He still had to make it through another class after this one. Two hours and Blaine would be kissing him again. Just two more hours. He could do this.

A collective scraping of chairs in the classroom shook him from his daydreams. The class was getting to work on whatever it was Mrs. Yeoman had been babbling about up by the chalkboard, which he'd been too distracted to hear and now was too anxious and impatient to care about missing. He peered over the shoulder of the kid in front of him to try and see what he was supposed to be doing, and saw that the textbook was open to chapter 23, and most of his classmates were reading it quietly to themselves and working on the summary questions in the back of the book. He turned to the right page and stared at it, but he couldn't focus enough to read even one word on the page.

Two _hours_? Was that a joke? He most definitely could not do this.

When the bell finally rang at the end of fifth period, Kurt made a beeline for his final class of the day, Home EC. He was dying to get the school day over with so he could rush to the library and work. Or, you know, make out with Blaine.

He was just about to the door of Ms. Hagberg's class when he felt a hand clasp around his wrist, and turned to see that now incredibly familiar pair of hazel eyes locked on his own. A smile crossed his (chapped) lips at once.

"Hi," he said, a little shy, and Blaine leaned up and kissed him firmly on the lips in answer. Kurt broke away, nervous about being seen in the crowded hallway, but Blaine wasn't discouraged. His mouth made its way down Kurt's neck instead, and oh, it felt too good for him to try any harder to stop it.

"One more hour," Kurt sighed quietly in Blaine's ear, his lips brushing the line of piercings that ran along its shell, sending a shiver through him. He'd never been dreading sixty minutes so much in his life. Normally he loved this class, but now that he knew what he could be doing with Blaine in the library, sewing and baking and learning how to poach an egg seemed like a colossal waste of time.

"I can't wait anymore," Blaine murmured against his skin. "Just skip it."

"No," Kurt said weakly, and he felt Blaine smiling as he kissed along his jaw, probably hearing the frailty in his refusal. "We have to go to class."

"I don't have class," Blaine said, still assaulting his neck with heated kisses. "I had Mrs. McCann sixth period, and she told me not to come anymore, remember?"

Kurt tried not to think about how badly he wanted to kiss Blaine, which was hard when that mouth was trailing over his skin and making him feel hot and heavy and happy. But no. No no no. There were...more...more important things. There were. There had to be.

"Okay, but. I still...I still have to come – I mean, _go_...go to...to class," Kurt managed. He was having a hard time forming coherent thoughts. Again.

He hated this.

Blaine pressed his lips just below Kurt's ear, warm and gentle and so, _so_ sweet.

Damn. Just kidding. He loved this.

"You can miss just this once," Blaine said, kissing him in between pleas. "It'll be worth it, I promise."

The last of Kurt's resolve was ebbing away under Blaine's lips. He turned his head to give Blaine better access to his throat, and his eyes were about to flutter closed when he suddenly saw Finn and Quinn coming down the hall. He jumped and pushed Blaine away quickly, hurriedly trying to fix his shirt collar and checking his hair to make sure it wasn't too obvious that he'd just been sucking face outside of his Home Economics classroom. Luckily the two of them seemed to be in the middle of some kind of spat – as usual – and they didn't even glance in his direction as they passed by.

He exhaled heavily in relief, and turned back to Blaine, who was suddenly looking grumpy.

"We shouldn't do that in the hallway," Kurt said to him in a low voice. "I don't want anyone to...misunderstand."

"Why do you care who sees us?" Blaine asked irritably. "No one's going to bother you when you're with me."

"It's not that," Kurt said, trying to figure out how to explain the drama that could consume one's life when a secret got loose in the Glee Club. Especially when the secret was this good. His friends would have a field day if they knew that he was spending hours a day attached at the mouth to Blaine Anderson, who had a bad attitude and a worse reputation. He especially dreaded the day that Finn found out, because then it was only a matter of time before the big oaf spilled everything to his dad. Something told him that if Burt Hummel ever laid eyes on Blaine and found out that they'd been doing a lot more than homework in the library everyday after school, he was going to be in serious trouble.

"Look, it'd just be easier for me if no one knew right now," he said, reaching out for Blaine's arm.

Blaine leaned out of his reach and glowered at him. "If no one knew what?" he asked scathingly. "I'm not your fucking boyfriend, Hummel. We're just having fun."

That stung. Sure, they hadn't really defined what it was they had going on, but Blaine had admitted to liking him more than once, and Kurt thought he looked forward to their time together as much as he did, so why was he acting like it didn't mean anything all of a sudden?

"Okay," Kurt said, as calmly as he could when his chest was tight and aching at Blaine's sudden indifference. "But I don't usually do things like this. My friends would think it was weird for me to be involved in some meaningless physical relationship with someone I've only known for a week. Hell, _I_ think it's weird."

"Fine," Blaine snapped. "I'll keep my hands to myself from now on."

"That's not what I want," Kurt said desperately. And it wasn't. Even if they weren't a couple, even if they weren't headed in that direction, he didn't want whatever this was to be gone so soon after he'd found it. That just wasn't fair. "I still want to do...you know, everything we've been doing. But if certain people found out it could be...problematic."

He glanced down the hall at Finn, and Blaine followed his gaze, then turned back to him, looking furious.

"Do you have a thing for that dumb, lurching quarterback?" he asked, and his voice was an angry growl.

A stunned laugh escaped Kurt at this, but Blaine looked mad enough to explode, so he sobered quickly, shocked and a little irritated that Blaine thought he had the right to be angry if Kurt wanted to look at someone else. He didn't, of course, but still.

"Would that be a problem? You're not my_ 'fucking boyfriend_', remember?" he spat, aiming a haughty glare at Blaine with some difficulty. It was hard to look at that face with anything other than awe.

Blaine scowled right back at him, undeterred by Kurt's annoyance. "I don't like to share," he rumbled, and Kurt could see that dangerous boy starting to surface again. The one who had been a little frightening when Kurt had first met him last week.

And even if there was something strangely satisfying about seeing that jealous frown on Blaine's face, Kurt decided to ease his mind. In just one second. Right after this.

"I love him," Kurt started, watching to see what this statement would do. The reaction was almost exactly what he'd been expecting. Blaine looked livid, his eyes bright, his jaw clenched, and his fists balled up in rage. But there was something else there, too. He had swallowed hard the instant Kurt spoke, and if there was such a thing as _sad_ anger, he was looking at it. "Because he's family," he added then, because _shit_, he hadn't meant to upset him. Not really. "His mom married my dad."

Blaine blinked. "So he's your –"

" – brother. We're brothers."

"Oh," Blaine said, and even though it looked like two tons of agony had just been lifted off his shoulders, Kurt was surprised to see that he still looked pissed. A hard edge was in his voice when he spoke again. "Don't joke with me like that, Hummel. Not unless you're looking to get someone hurt."

Kurt had to think for a moment before he figured out what Blaine was getting at. Oh, yeah. The last guy Blaine had heard might have a secret interest in him had been beaten until his face resembled a rotten gourd. Maybe provoking his jealousy wasn't the greatest idea.

Kurt shrugged innocently, though of course he knew full well what he was doing. "Don't know why it should bother you."

"It shouldn't," Blaine agreed softly, reaching up to hold Kurt's face in a rough hand and stroking a calloused thumb over Kurt's lower lip. "But it does. These lips are mine."

"You think so?" Kurt asked breathlessly. He meant to sound more challenging than he did, but the thrill he felt under that possessive touch won out over his indignation, and he ended up sounding hopeful and excited instead.

The amused smirk was back in place. "Of course, baby. I'm the one who taught you how to use them." Kurt blushed and looked away, and Blaine continued in a low hum. "You're getting really good at it, by the way."

"Well. Someone's been helping me practice," Kurt said simply, and Blaine gave a brief laugh, before a cloud drifted across his eyes as he let go of Kurt and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his torn jeans. He seemed to be thinking about something that upset him.

"So why was that Karofsky prick messing with you if you have a jock brother?" Blaine asked a moment later, clearly preoccupied with this new knowledge of Kurt's family.

Kurt didn't expect this question, and so he couldn't answer right away. "I guess I never told anyone how bad it got," he said after a pause. That was true. Blaine was the only one who knew about the kiss in the locker room.

Blaine didn't look satisfied. "He must be a huge fucking idiot if he couldn't figure it out when you had to switch schools," he said, nodding toward Finn, who was still bickering with Quinn at the end of the hall.

"Don't say that," Kurt chided. "He's not stupid, he was just...hesitant. Image is extremely important to people around here."

"That's a bullshit excuse," Blaine said. "He should have been standing up for you."

Kurt gave him a bleak smile. "That's probably exactly what he'll try to do if he ever sees you talking to me, let alone putting your tongue down my throat. Or he might tell my dad, and then I'd be the first kid in the history of high school to be grounded from coming to class."

"Does your dad know you're gay?" Blaine asked, with something that sounded an awful lot like bitterness thick in his voice.

Kurt raised his eyebrows at him. "Are you kidding? I'm the type of gay you can see from space," he said, and Blaine chuckled as he went on. "That's not the problem. The problem is your reputation. You're always sitting alone, smoking, skipping class, getting in fights. Most people know you're the one who cleaned Karofsky's clock, even if he won't admit it. They think you're bad news."

The bell rang. Kurt looked around and noticed that Finn and Quinn, along with most everyone else, had disappeared into their classrooms. He turned back, about to step into Ms. Hagberg's class and tell Blaine that he'd see him in the library in an hour, but suddenly he was being pushed up against the lockers again, and Blaine's hands slipped under the hem of his shirt to ghost over his skin. It was amazing how much better it felt being shoved up against the lockers now than it had last year. Now that the person doing it was dark and gorgeous and trying to seduce him rather than hurt him. Now that the person doing it was Blaine.

"What do _you_ think?" Blaine asked him, and his breath still smelled like cigarettes and still made Kurt dizzy.

"I...I can't really think at all when you...t-touch me...like that," Kurt stuttered. "And that...that might be bad."

Blaine grinned, his eyes darkening and his thumbs stilling on Kurt's hipbones as he leaned even closer. "Bad can be very, _very_ good sometimes, baby."

His grip was tighter on Kurt's hips and he was staring at his mouth hungrily, and it lit something up in Kurt. Before he knew it he was twisting his fingers through Blaine's dark curls and pulling his face to his own, kissing him like he wished he could even with everyone watching and completely shocked by his own nerve. It was usually Blaine who did this, who closed the distance between their lips, who clutched frantically at him and thrusted his tongue into his mouth over and over again.

But, hey. It had been three days now. Kurt figured it was probably his turn.

If Blaine was taken aback, he didn't show it. He responded to Kurt's lips immediately, opening their mouths against each other and pushing into his mouth like he was starving for it. The short, coarse hair on his cheeks was scratching Kurt's smooth ones pleasantly, and it was a good thing Kurt was holding on to him so tightly, because his knees felt weak and he didn't think he'd be able to keep standing if they kept this up. Blaine's fingers were digging into Kurt's skin so hard they would probably leave bruises, and after a few feverish seconds of tasting each other and forgetting everything but the wet slide of their lips, he let out a low, growling moan into Kurt's mouth.

That was new. Kissing had to be hushed and silent in the library, and the only sounds they'd so far made during this activity were quiet gasps for air when they could manage to pull away from each other. But that _moan_. _That_ was different. That was better.

That was _hot_.

And _he_ had done that. Kurt. Kurt had made Blaine moan like that, like he was goddamn, out-of-his-mind, _miserable_ with pleasure. The same way Blaine made him feel with his lips and his tongue and his confident, beautiful grin. There was no way. He didn't have the slightest clue as to what he was doing. The only times he'd ever really thought about sex or anything even remotely related to it were accidents, either in his sleep when he didn't have conscious control over his own thoughts or when Blaine had whispered to him in the back row of their English classroom. He didn't think it was possible for him to have that kind of effect on _anyone_, let alone Blaine Anderson, who, Kurt guessed, had probably done everything there was to do more times and with more guys than he could even count.

Kurt tilted his head back and away from Blaine to breathe. He had to. Blaine was pressing into him everywhere, and the sound he'd just made was incredible, and if Kurt didn't take a moment to clear his head he was for sure going to collapse. Blaine kept kissing him even while his lips were out of reach, dragging his open mouth down the length of Kurt's neck and sighing hot breaths over his skin.

But a moment later Blaine's lips were gone, and his strong, rough hands let go of Kurt's hips. Kurt let out a tiny huff of displeasure at the loss of contact, at the chill he felt all of a sudden, then looked down to see why Blaine had released him. His palms were now flat against the lockers on either side of Kurt's waist, and he was staring at the floor with a wide, startled expression. His chest was heaving, and Kurt could only assume that he was struggling to catch his breath.

When he straightened and looked back at him, Kurt saw the same things in his expression that had been there a few days ago in the library. Surprise. Amazement. And something that looked a lot like fear.

"What are you _doing _to me?" Blaine said, his voice quiet and confused and earnest, his dark eyes darting back and forth between Kurt's bright ones. This openness always came out of nowhere, the slick, sly attitude vanishing completely for the smallest, slightest moment and completely catching Kurt off guard.

Kurt smiled timidly. "I could ask you the same question," he said softly, reaching up and clutching the leather lapel of Blaine's jacket with trembling hands. He was ready to walk away from Mrs. Hagberg and all-purpose flour and unsalted butter and follow Blaine wherever he wanted to take him. Their usual corner in the library. A janitor's closet. A bed. Wherever.

Blaine glanced down at Kurt's hands, suddenly looking a little lost and torn and unhappy, and then he twisted his fingers with Kurt's and forced them away. Kurt's arms fell back to his sides and he watched as Blaine's eyes clouded over again, his guard thrown back up and the gentleness gone from his voice when he next spoke.

"You should get to class," he told him in a clipped tone, and Kurt didn't know why he'd changed his tune so quickly. Two minutes ago he'd been begging Kurt to cut out early and kiss him instead.

"Oh," Kurt said. "But –"

"I have to do all of this fucking work now because I skipped every single class since Thanksgiving," Blaine explained. "You shouldn't follow my example. Go make your pastries. I'll just go to the library now and get started."

Crap. Blaine was right. If they kept going at each other like this every chance they got, their studying arrangement was only going to end up failing them both.

"I guess I'll see you in an hour, then," Kurt said, and then added with a nervous smile, "I think we're making cupcakes today. If they're any good, I'll bring you one."

Blaine took a step forward, grinning at him, and his voice was once again dripping with a playful arrogance. "That's nice of you, baby." He wrapped an arm around Kurt's waist and leaned close, whispering again. "I'll save you something sweet, too."

His tongue licked hot and wet into Kurt's mouth for the briefest of moments before he was smirking darkly and walking away down the hall, and Kurt stared longingly after him until his leather jacket and dark tangle of curls disappeared around the corner. Then he reluctantly turned to his classroom door and tried to slip in with as little noise as possible.

Luckily, Mrs. Hagberg was rummaging in a corner cabinet for measuring cups, and Kurt managed to sneak into his seat without attracting her attention. Once he sat down, he immediately wished he could get up and leave again, because Mercedes was raising her eyebrows and clearly trying to figure out exactly what had kept him. He felt his cheeks getting hot and busied himself tying on his apron, fumbling with the strings for much longer than was necessary just to avoid her gaze.

He spent the next tortuously long hour spent sifting flour, spilling powdered sugar on every surface in the room, and trying to ignore Mercedes' questioning glances. Their cupcakes were definitely not the most appealing in the room, since Kurt was distracted by thoughts of Blaine – and more specifically, Blaine's lips – and Mercedes was alternating between texting Tina and licking their slightly runny frosting out of the bowl, but when the bell rang at the end of class, he wrapped one up in a paper towel anyway and started for the door in a hurry.

"Excuse me, mister," Mercedes called from behind him, and even though the urge to sprint out the door and get to the library as fast as was humanly possible was overwhelming, he turned around and blinked at her. It would be stupid to make Mercedes even more suspicious than she already was with even more odd behavior.

"What?" he asked, and her nostrils flared in disbelieving anger.

"What do you think this is, _The Help_?" she fired at him, gesturing at their table, which was covered with various baking ingredients and dirty kitchen utensils. "I am not cleaning this up by myself. Get your pasty white butt back here and help me."

Kurt let out a frustrated growl of a sigh and put his things down in an empty chair, scooping up an armful of whisks and mixing spoons and hauling them to the sink in the back of the room. He washed them faster and less thoroughly than he normally would have, and then scrambled for a washcloth to wipe down their table, not bothering to pick up the little shards of eggshell that flew every which way as he did so. Mercedes watched his frantic, inattentive clean-up with wide eyes, but before she could ask him any questions, Kurt was tossing his bag back over his shoulder and bolting for the door, waving at her over his shoulder and shouting a hasty "Toodle-loo!" before all out running to his locker to get the rest of his things.

He made it to the library in a matter of minutes, and had to grasp the handle and take a few steadying breaths before walking in, because he didn't want to show up to the table panting and sweating. Sure, he usually ended up that way anyway after a few minutes with Blaine's mouth on him, but he could at least try and _start_ the study session with some of his dignity.

When he opened the door, he had to stop and calm himself again, because _god_, his skin was tingling just knowing Blaine was here, just behind that shelf of history books, waiting for him. He walked to the back corner, and his breath caught in his chest when he saw Blaine at their usual table. He was actually working, bent over a pile of worksheets with a textbook open in front of him, one hand marking his place in the book and the other quickly writing down an answer. His brow was furrowed, and he glanced between the text in the book and his paper, apparently copying what he was reading onto the sheet in front of him. He looked even more handsome than usual, so focused and serious, and Kurt would have liked to just stand still and watch him forever, but that would mean he couldn't kiss him. And well, kissing came first.

He cleared his throat a little, and Blaine's head snapped up from his book at the tiny sound. His face broke into a smirk when he saw him, and he put his pencil in his book and closed it, shoving his things aside and leaning his forearms on the table.

"Finally," he said, as Kurt crossed to him and set down his things. "I'm starving."

"Oh, right," Kurt set the bundled up cupcake down in front of him. "It's not the aesthetic masterpiece I hoped for, but it'll probably taste fine."

Blaine grinned and moved the cupcake to the side with the rest of his stuff. "Not what I meant, baby." He scooted his chair away from the table and grasped Kurt by the arm, tugging him down into his lap and immediately moving his mouth to his neck. "I meant _you_," he mumbled into Kurt's throat. "I'm hungry for _you_. You're beautiful _and_ you taste good."

Kurt barely had time to sigh out a gasp of surprise as he landed on Blaine's legs. Blaine moved quickly up his neck and to his mouth, pressing one maddeningly long, chaste kiss to his lips before finally pushing their tongues together in a desperate, heated battle that only lasted a moment. Because Kurt was more than happy to let Blaine win, let him stroke into his mouth and make him forget about everything that wasn't Blaine's tongue or Blaine's lips or Blaine's hands all over him.

Fuck. He should pull away. Get up. Sit in his own chair. Do his goddamn homework. He should.

But he couldn't. He liked this. _Loved_ it. Had been waiting for it all day. Blaine's touch was confident and gentle and greedy and sincere, and it made him feel good to give up control under those palms, to let those roaming fingers make all his decisions for him, his body responding automatically to each squeeze and stroke without any help from his brain.

Blaine's hands were everywhere. Running down his sides and pressing into his lower back and squeezing his hips. Threading into the soft strands of hair at the back of his neck and gripping his thighs and, and..._oh_.

Kurt stiffened as Blaine's hand rested heavily at the front of his pants, palming roughly over the hard-on he hadn't even realized he had, and suddenly the only thing he seemed capable of thinking was _yes, __yes, god yes_. He felt dizzy and light-headed and then wildly dazed as he felt something hard and firm pulsing underneath his own leg. Blaine was as turned on as he was.

It was incredible. But it was also much too much and much too soon, and Kurt was starting to feel a sort of desperate, unwanted panic rise in his chest.

"Stop," he gasped out as he broke away from Blaine's lips. He was sort of surprised that he managed it and even more surprised when Blaine obeyed at once. He leaned back and pulled his hands away, breathing heavily and searching Kurt's face with apprehension, as if he was worried he'd pushed him too far too fast.

Kurt slid awkwardly out of his lap, standing up and moving to sit in his own chair across the table. He ran his fingers through his hair and stared down at the tabletop, the twisting, twirling grains of wood oddly representative of his own confusion. He felt himself blushing and wondered if Blaine could hear his heart thudding loudly in his chest. Blaine ducked his head to try and meet his eyes, and Kurt glanced back at him to find a look of concern etched over his dark features. His throat tightened painfully at the sight. It was human and caring and not at all what he'd been expecting. He'd thought Blaine might be frustrated or angry at him for stopping his progress, but apparently not.

"Sorry, baby," he said quietly, and there he went again, acting sweet and making Kurt wonder what the hell this was. His brow was furrowed and his eyes soft with apology. "I thought –"

"No. That was...that felt really good," Kurt interrupted. The heat in his cheeks was almost unbearable, and he was sure he was the color of a tomato, but he went on anyway, his eyes cast down to his lap because he could _not_ look at Blaine while he said this. "I just...I've never...done anything like that before. At all. I'm a - a virgin, in every sense of the word."

He chanced a glance at Blaine and instantly regretted it. He was smiling broadly and looking like he was trying hard not to laugh. This was humiliating.

"Somehow I figured as much," Blaine said, not even bothering to hide the mirth in his voice, and Kurt groaned in embarrassment and hid his face in his hands, but Blaine caught his wrists and pulled his arms away, smiling patiently at him.

"Don't worry, baby. I think it's good that you're a virgin." He said, and he stroked his thumbs over Kurt's wrists soothingly.

"You do?" Kurt asked, somewhat surprised, and hopeful.

Suddenly there was a spark in Blaine's eyes, and his sweet smile turned smug in an instant. "Of course. I want to break you in myself."

Kurt yanked his arms out of Blaine's grasp and glared at him. He should have known better than to expect reassurance from someone who could turn literally any innocent comment into a sexual proposition. He turned and dug into his bag, piling his English textbook, poetry packet, and his own collection of poem books onto the table in a huff.

Blaine watched him with alarmed confusion. "What are you doing?"

"We have work to do," Kurt snipped. "That's why we're here, remember?"

Blaine stretched for his arm, but Kurt pulled it out of his reach again, and then he was begging. "Oh, come on. I'm sorry, okay? Get back over here and let me make it up to you."

Kurt glowered at him from behind his homework. "No. The kissing portion of our afternoon is officially over."

"Don't be like that, baby," Blaine whined, sounding crushed, and Kurt was getting a strange thrill out of this. Out of finally being able to tell Blaine no and mean it.

"Here," Kurt chucked one of his poetry books across the table at him, and Blaine flinched as it smacked into his chest. "Maybe if you put a little more effort into your poetry assignments, you might learn how to say the right things."

Blaine scowled at him, flipping through the book in silence for a few moments, but apparently not yet ready to let their argument go, because a moment later he leaned forward, waving the book back in forth through the air and hissing, "I hate to rain on your romantic, idealist parade, but just so you know, every single word in this book was written to try to get in someone's pants."

"That's not true!" Kurt scoffed. "Poetry is supposed to speak to your soul, not your loins. Just because your mind takes it there doesn't mean that's what the author intended."

"Oh, really? Here, let's take a look." Blaine raised his eyebrows at him and leaned back in his chair, thumbing through the pages with a stubborn look of determination etched across his features. He smirked about halfway through the book and cleared his throat dramatically before reading aloud,

"_we found each other  
__hungry  
__and we bit each other  
__as fire bites,  
__leaving wounds in us."_

Blaine looked back at him triumphantly, as if he'd proven his point, but Kurt just shrugged.

"That's not that sexy," Kurt argued, though actually he felt himself going red again just thinking about the words. He didn't want to let Blaine win this one.

"Fine," Blaine was still turning pages. "We'll try another one. Here we go:

"_From your hips to your feet  
__I want to make a long journey."_

"See? These are all about fucking," Blaine insisted.

Kurt snatched the book out of Blaine's hands, irritated because he could kind of see Blaine's point. "Well, of course," he said bitterly. "Pablo Neruda is known for really sensual love poetry. But it's not all like that."

Blaine gave him yet another dark, smug smile, nodding to the book Kurt had just taken from him. "If that's what you want to read together, baby, we might be on the same page after all."

Kurt pulled Blaine's poetry packet out from the pile of homework heaped on the other side of the desk and slid it over to him. "Page 17, to be exact. You'll either open up a book or I'll leave right this second, I swear."

"I'd much rather open _you_ up –" Blaine started, and Kurt stood immediately, shoving his things into his bag and reaching for his English textbook, but Blaine grabbed it and held it out of his reach. "Okay, okay," he said desperately. "I'll stop, I promise. Just sit back down."

He was pleading with him silently with wide eyes, so Kurt sank back into his chair, proud and pleased when he heard Blaine let out a relieved breath and watched as he turned to the right page and started reading.

They worked quietly on English homework for the next hour, and everything was going fine until eventually Blaine grew frustrated trying to understand the meaning of Oscar Wilde's words, and thumped his head down on the table, mumbling something against the stack of papers under his face.

"What was that?" Kurt asked, amused.

Blaine flopped his head to the side so that his cheek was resting on the table instead. "I don't like poetry," he grumbled, looking sadly up at Kurt's face, and this was the first time he could ever have described Blaine as adorable.

Kurt chuckled. "How can you not like poetry? It's one of the most beautiful forms of expression there is."

"It's stupid," Blaine muttered, picking himself up off the table and holding his forehead in his hands as he read, trying once again to decipher his assignment.

He looked so confused and exhausted, and Kurt looked at him with sympathy, trying to figure out a way that Blaine could relate to the material. His eyes landed on Blaine's t-shirt, small and too tight as usual, and printed with the cover of an album by The Clash. Ah. There.

"You like music, don't you?" Kurt asked him, and Blaine looked up, failing to see the parallel. Kurt gestured to his shirt. "Well, most songs are just poems set to music."

Blaine looked at him incredulously. "You're telling me The Clash is poetry? Have you ever heard their music?"

"Well, no," Kurt admitted. "But that doesn't matter. I'm sure their lyrics have themes, and rhyme, and try to create a mood or send a message."

Blaine looked thoughtfully down at his shirt. "Okay, I guess I get it. But take the music away and it doesn't make any sense to me."

"What about in class the other day?" Kurt prompted. "You were making up all those rhymes off the top of your head."

Blaine screwed up his face, trying to remember, then nodded as it came to him. "You mean the ones about blowjobs?"

Kurt gave him an embarrassed smile. "Yes. They were funny."

"That's different," Blaine shrugged nonchalantly. "That's sex. Sex I understand."

Heat was spreading over the back of Kurt's neck and into his face again, and he was starting to recall how awful it had felt to talk about his inexperience just a short while ago. "And I understand poetry," he said, trying to make a joke and take the sting out of his earlier humiliation. "If only we could trade expertise."

He laughed lightly, but then he looked over at Blaine, and was startled by the expression on his face. It was...inspired. Or enlightened. Or something.

Blaine leaned across the table, the hazel of his eyes deeper and darker than Kurt had ever seen it. "That's an idea, baby," he murmured, and his eyes were flickering over his face and resting on his lips.

"What's an idea?" Kurt whispered, his breath catching as he gazed at Blaine, because he thought he knew where this was going.

"You're helping me with all this," Blaine said, gesturing to the mess of papers scattered all over their table. "I could return the favor."

"The...what? Teach me about sex?" Kurt didn't exactly understand. What, was Blaine going to draw him diagrams or something? Show him some educational videos?

Blaine grinned slyly at him. "Sure, baby. I'm an expert. I could teach you."

"Ha," Kurt laughed humorlessly. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"

There was no trace of irony in Blaine's voice as he answered. He wasn't joking. "Yes, I would."

Kurt stared at him. Holy crap. This was an actual, legitimate offer. "So...what? Everything I ever wanted to know about sex but was afraid to ask? I could ask you?"

"Of course," Blaine nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching mischievously. "But I think it'd be more fun – for both of us – if you let me show you a thing or two."

"I see," Kurt said dryly. "So you want to teach me about sex...by having sex with me. My my, what a generous offer. What could possibly be in it for you?"

Blaine laughed, but his eyes were still lustful and serious, and Kurt's heart was pounding just looking into them. "No pressure, baby," he said. "But I mean it. Anything you want to know. Or try. I'll teach you."

Kurt swallowed hard, watching as Blaine winked at him and then turned back to his homework. He stared at the dark features of his face, at the way his shirt hugged his small, muscular frame, at the lips that had already given Kurt a whole host of experiences he'd never even dreamed of until a week ago. And he wondered. What would it be like to go further? To have Blaine's hands and mouth on every inch of his naked skin. To be touched and opened up and undone by this gorgeous boy. He wanted to know. Wanted to know so badly he could hardly think, hardly _breathe._

As if he could sense Kurt's curiosity, his desire, his gaze still on him, Blaine glanced back up from his books and met his eyes. They didn't speak, or smile, or even blink as they looked at each other. And they both knew. This was it.

The beginning.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Wow. So this chapter got away from me. It was actually meant to end up somewhere else, but it was getting long. Very long. So now it's been split and you have the first part a little sooner. A couple warnings, though. **Violence** and underage drinking and some harsh language. Proceed with caution.

Sorry for the long wait this time. The good news is that half of the next chapter is already written, so I should be able to get that one up pretty quickly. Thanks once again for the follows and favorites and reviews, and I'll see you with chapter 6 before the end of the week. xo

* * *

**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 5**

* * *

For what had to be the hundredth time that day, Blaine snapped his Statistics book shut and swore. He needed a break. Again. He had been staring at confusing strings of numbers and symbols for hours, and he still didn't understand what he was doing. The struggle felt especially profound since he knew he wouldn't even get credit for this. He was only allowed to make up the tests and quizzes in his math class, but he still needed to learn all the equations and formulas, so he'd been trying to do the problems at the end of each chapter and get a grasp of what he needed to know to pass, but it was slow-going. Math just wasn't his subject. And he didn't have any help today.

It was Saturday, and though he'd originally planned to blow off all the make-up work on the weekends and go back to his usual routine – drinking, heading over to Scandals, maybe visiting the record store in North Lima and lifting a few new CDs – that strategy had kind of been scrapped. Now he needed to take the opposite approach, since the time set aside for studying and catching up had mostly been spent exploring Kurt Hummel's mouth, and he wanted it to stay that way.

He went to his window and budged it open a few inches, lighting a cigarette and leaning on the sill to blow the smoke out through the screen. He wasn't supposed to smoke in here, but fuck it. No one ever came in his room anyway, so who was going to find out? He took a long, slow drag on his cigarette and thought.

But not about math, or school, or homework.

He thought about Kurt, and all the things he wanted to do to him.

Fuck. He was getting close. He could sense it. Feel it in the way Kurt had started looking at him in the past few days, his eyes roving down over Blaine's body, lingering on his arms and his chest and the skin showing through the tears in his jeans. And in the way he moved underneath his hands while they kissed, leaning into his touches and skin growing hot beneath his palms. Then Blaine had had him in his lap, and had touched him – god, _finally_ – and he'd felt Kurt tense, had watched his eyes go wide and his mouth slacken at the pressure on his cock, and he'd known he had liked it.

Sure, he'd slammed on the brakes immediately, but that one moment of watching Kurt enjoy himself was all Blaine needed to know that things were at least headed in the direction he wanted. And then he'd made Kurt that offer, and even if Kurt laughed it off, his eyes had blown out, the pale blue irises barely visible behind lust and intrigue, and yes, Blaine was going to win this one. He was going to have Kurt Hummel naked and begging underneath him. It was only a matter of time.

Shockingly, he was willing to wait. A first. When he'd come across timid little teases before, he'd moved on in an instant, to someone more willing, more desperate. He'd never enjoyed the chase, the game, the annoyingly coy resistance. He enjoyed the fuck. The hot, urgent meeting of a physical need, and then forgetting everything about the other guys and never bothering to think of them again.

This was different. And even that realization made Blaine uneasy. Just kissing Kurt had been incredible, was still incredible. Every damn time. The press of those soft, pink lips against his made him feel like there was gasoline in his veins and someone had just lit a match, sparking a flame in his very blood and pumping fire right to his heart, which burned hot for hours even after he watched Kurt leave the library. He had never enjoyed kissing so much in his life. It had always been a means to an end before Kurt, a step one on the way to casual, nameless sex in a dark parking lot or the back of someone's car. But this was better. Warmer. More intense. He liked it.

What he _didn't_ like was lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what Kurt was doing at that very moment. He despised the dark, angry bubble of jealousy that boiled in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw Kurt laughing with one of his friends – especially if it was a guy. He really, _really_ couldn't stand the fear that he was somehow going to mess this whole thing up. Because he shouldn't care. Shouldn't be worried about disappointing him or pressuring him or letting on just how much of a wreck his whole life was. It shouldn't matter. _Kurt_ shouldn't matter.

Christ, though, he did. A lot. It was fucking pathetic, how much Blaine depended on seeing Kurt smile, on hearing the happy, satisfied sighs that escaped his lips as Blaine tongued over his pulse point, on feeling those lithe arms wrap shyly around his shoulders. It physically hurt him every time Kurt came to his senses long enough to check his watch, realize he was late getting home, and rush out the door after a few more hasty kisses. He wasn't exactly sure _why_ it hurt, though. Maybe Kurt's frantic departure reminded him that there was no one to care if Blaine came home late, or at all. Or it could be because his body needed release after several hours spent wanting Kurt bad enough to make his jeans feel oppressively tight. Or – _fuck_ – he was starting to develop real, honest-to-god feelings for him.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. At first he thought the answer was to just quit going to school all together. If he didn't have to see Kurt, maybe he wouldn't have to deal with this ache in his chest, this swoop in his stomach every time he thought about him. Maybe if he ignored and neglected them long enough, the feelings would just go away.

Except he couldn't make himself stay away. Every morning he woke up actually _dying_ to get to McKinley. He would rush through a shower and walk to school early, just hanging around and smoking anxiously in the courtyard until the rest of the students – the ones not currently slaves to some insane obsession with a boy they hardly knew – showed up for classes. And every morning when he saw Kurt again that familiar and uncomfortable whisper of a feeling would grab hold of his heart and squeeze until he thought he might die from unfulfilled longing. Blaine always wanted to cross the space between them and make up for the hours they spent apart with wild hands and a thirsty mouth, but he never did. Knew he couldn't. Instead, he reveled in the sight of Kurt's secretive smile when they locked eyes, the tiny, discreet wave he gave him when his friends' backs were turned, and forced himself to get a grip. At least until English class.

Oh, yeah, English. Blaine shook himself from his thoughts at his window. _Fuck_, he still had so much work to do. He glanced back at his desk and groaned. He had to get all of this shit done. If he didn't, he'd fail every single one of his classes and find himself back on a bus to military school, and no way was he going to go through that again. The only option he had if he couldn't scrape through his junior year was to get the hell out of Lima fast, but he didn't want to do that. Not when he'd just found something – _someone_ – that made him feel a little less hollow on the inside.

Blaine slumped back down at his desk. Fuck the math, for now. He'd had about as much factor analysis as he could take for one afternoon. He rifled through the mess of papers and books in front of him until he dug out the copy of _The Outsiders_ Kurt had found for him in the library. He was only about two chapters in so far, but he wasn't sure if he liked it. All the characters had stupid nicknames, and there were gangs and fights and blood and bruises, and he didn't really want to read about that stuff. He'd been on both sides of a beating in real life, and to be honest, he didn't really care for either one.

He tossed the novel aside and pulled out the poetry packet from Ms. Fox's class instead, and a little stack of books that Kurt had let him borrow to get ideas for the various assignments they were supposed to be doing. He was supposed to write an acrostic poem, a cinquain, a name poem, and a haiku before class on Monday, but he had no clue how to start.

His cigarette was burned down near the tips of his fingers as he thumbed through the little book of poems by Pablo Neruda he and Kurt had bickered over the day before. He read through a few of them, trying to focus, to get his head straight and get to work, but it was impossible when every word on every page reminded him of Kurt. _Of Kurt._ He swallowed hard and let the book fall shut in his hands, staring at the cover with terrified eyes.

_Love Poems_. Pablo Neruda.

Jesus fucking Christ. These poems were about sex, yes. But they were also about love. _Love._ And he recognized these words. The emotions behind them. Felt them every moment he spent with Kurt and every moment he spent without him, too, humming deep in his chest and warm in his veins and making him feel less alone than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

No. No way. He was not in love with Kurt Hummel. He couldn't be. He'd known him just over a week and fuck, he wasn't even sure if he believed in love. That kind of thing wasn't real.

He shoved the book of poems out of sight under the nearest stack of unfinished schoolwork. This was simple. He just needed to get things moving with Kurt, to fuck him already. Then this...this _thing_, whatever it was, would get out of his head and out of his heart and he could get on with his life. He could scrounge whatever money he had together and hop on a bus out of town before the school year was over, before the shit hit the fan, before he found himself exactly where he started six months ago, cast off and forgotten and left to have his ass handed to him every day by strangers who didn't know what he'd been through and didn't care, either.

This was going to have to wait. He had to get out of here, clear his head. Maybe he would go back to Scandals, see if he could distract himself with someone else for a while. It was worth a try. He stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, looking around for the key to his room and sucking down one more lungful of smoke.

His eyes fell on a little cupcake on the corner of his desk, the one Kurt had made and sent home with him the day before, and his throat suddenly felt tight and dry. He wanted desperately to sit back down, to let himself enjoy the sweetness of the gesture, to fill these long hours without the taste of Kurt's lips with vanilla and sugar instead.

But he didn't. He couldn't. This wasn't good for him. He was starting to hope and dream about things that he knew – just _knew_ – he could never truly have. Life didn't work out for him, it never had, and that certainly wasn't going to change now. He wasn't that lucky.

Blaine took a long last look at the tiny dessert and made up his mind to stop caring here and now about Kurt. He would play this game for as long as it took to fuck him hot and raw and dirty, and then he would be done with him. Period.

He shrugged on his jacket, set his jaw, and stubbed out his cigarette in the icing before walking out the door.

* * *

Kurt was making a sincere effort to pay attention to the movie. Really, he was. It was _Grease_, for crying out loud. He loved _Grease_. But all the boys running around in leather jackets just reminded him of Blaine, so his mind wandered back to the library, and then elsewhere entirely. Soon the leather jacket was nowhere to be found in his daydreams. Neither were t-shirts or jeans or any other articles of clothing. Just sheets and skin and sweat and sex.

These thoughts were new. Kurt was slightly alarmed at how swiftly they had seemed to move from his dreams and start claiming his waking hours as well, but he also, well, kind of liked it. The more he thought about Blaine this way, the more he wanted it to be real. He wanted actual experiences. Memories as well as fantasies. That was normal, wasn't it? He was a teenage boy, after all. He was allowed to think about things like this. He was _supposed _to even.

But there was also that pesky logical side of his brain, squawking its own opinion and confusing him each time he'd about made up his mind to take Blaine up on his offer and let him do more than just kiss him at their corner table in the library. _Hello?!_ it would say. _This is not a John Hughes movie. You are not Molly Ringwald. The hot bad boy is not going to fall in love with you and change his ways to win your heart. He will use you and hurt you and likely never speak to you again once he gets what he wants. Don't give it to him, dummy._

Dammit. The logical side of his brain was right. He couldn't do this. He had to draw the line and keep their relationship – if you could even call it that – strictly professional. No fooling around. And definitely no sex. And he should probably put an end to the kissing, too.

Well, no. Maybe not the kissing. Surely that was harmless. The kissing could stay.

"Okay, Kurt, what is going on with you?" Mercedes snapped, and Kurt jumped and looked around. Mercedes and Rachel were staring at him with looks of concern on their faces. Oh, right. This was a sleepover. He was supposed to be giggling and gossiping with his two best friends, not having a silent argument with himself over whether or not he was going to let Blaine Anderson get in his pants.

"Yeah, Kurt," Rachel chimed in. "First you didn't eat your pizza and then you didn't want to braid my hair and now Sandy is singing 'Hopelessly Devoted to You' and you haven't even _hummed _along and you love this song."

Kurt sighed, wiggling his toes idly in his slippers and sinking even further into the heap of soft pillows on Rachel's bed. "Sorry, ladies. I guess I'm a little distracted."

Rachel and Mercedes exchanged a knowing glance, barely managing to hide grins, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Oh, what? You think you have me all figured out?" Kurt asked, raising his eyebrows. They obviously didn't. He hadn't told anyone about Blaine's apparent infatuation with him or about the fact that they were studying together, and certainly not that he'd had his first real kiss – hell, his first thousand kisses – earlier that week with a guy everyone assumed was nothing but trouble.

The smug looks of understanding didn't leave the girls' faces. "Of course we do, Kurt Hummel," Rachel said. "How many times have you watched us mooning over crushes and pining for boyfriends? I see that look on my own face every time I'm practicing a ballad about unrequited love in the mirror and thinking about Finn."

Now it was Kurt and Mercedes exchanging looks. Their friend was clearly deranged.

"Okay, my unconventional methods of emoting through song aside, we _do_ know what's going on here, Kurt," Rachel insisted.

Mercedes nodded. "You have a crush. Which one of those private school boys stole your heart, boo?"

Kurt felt himself turning red, but inwardly heaved a giant sigh of relief. They thought he'd fallen for someone at Dalton. Wrong.

"Okay," he said, looking at their earnest faces and actually kind of wanting to tell them what was happening, because dammit, it was by far the most confusing thing he'd ever experienced and he sort of wanted some insight other than his own. His brain was rendered pretty much useless every time Blaine came near him with his lips. "Maybe there _is_ a guy –" he started, but that was as far as he got, because his two friends were squealing loudly as soon as the words left his mouth.

Rachel was the first to recover, and once the wave of hysteria passed she clutched at Kurt's hands and looked at him seriously.

"Kurt, is it another straight boy? Because we all know how much it hurt you when Finn, well, you know, liked me instead." She said this with a guilty little shrug, and Kurt fought the urge to roll his eyes again. Finn. Please. All his time with Blaine had made it clear just how insane and ridiculous he had been to find someone like Finn attractive. Blaine was gorgeous. And sexy. And made _him_ feel gorgeous and sexy. There was mystery and chemistry and _fire_ between them, and the crazed longing he felt whenever he had to say goodbye to Blaine for a few hours made his fleeting fixation on Finn seem like a bad joke.

"No. He's gay," Kurt assured them, staring off into space and remembering Blaine's hand resting heavily on his crotch the day before. "Definitely gay."

"Okay, okay, so who is he?" Rachel persisted, shaking his arm in her excitement. "Is he cute? Was he one of the Warblers? Describe him to me. I make it a point to memorize the faces of my competition so I can imagine them crushed in agonizing defeat whenever I inevitably beat them."

Mercedes and Kurt glanced at each other again in fearful amusement, but Kurt tried to answer the question anyway. "He's more than cute. He's gorgeous. But..." he trailed off, trying to figure out a way to describe his predicament without going into too much detail.

"But he doesn't even know you're alive?" Mercedes offered.

"But he already has a boyfriend?" Rachel tried.

Kurt sighed. There was no way he was going to be able to tell them anything without telling them _everything_, and that wasn't an option. First of all, Rachel would judge him. She'd already mentioned finding out some pretty troubling things about Blaine's past, and she probably wouldn't be very understanding if she found out the guy Kurt was obsessing over was the same one who had put a few kids in the hospital last year. And Mercedes would be furious if he admitted that he was seriously considering giving it up to _anyone_ after only a week, especially if he told her that this particular anyone wasn't even interested in dating him. He looked toward the little TV in Rachel's room, where Sandy was still singing her heart out about Danny Zuko.

"I don't think I want to talk about it," Kurt decided aloud, and he wasn't surprised when both girls protested loudly and at once. "No, no, seriously," he said over their indignant responses. "I promise I'll tell you both eventually, but not tonight. Let's leave the relationship woes where they belong: in the movie."

All three of them turned back to the television, the girls pouting reluctantly. But the silence only lasted for about ten seconds before Rachel couldn't help herself and asked him one more question.

"So," she pried, in a sing-songy voice. "Prom is only one week away. Any chance of this Mr. Mystery accompanying you?"

Kurt actually snorted at that. Prom. Right. Somehow he couldn't picture Blaine trading his leather jacket for a tux and showing up for a chaperoned school function. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be able to go with his own date rather than tagging along with his friends, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been dreaming about slow-dancing with someone special since the time he was about ten years old. And Blaine _did_ consistently try to make out with him in the crowded halls of McKinley, so he was obviously not the least bit shy or embarrassed to be seen with another boy. Maybe Kurt could casually bring it up and see what he thought about the idea.

"I'll keep you posted," Kurt said skeptically, shrugging and reaching for a cold piece of pizza.

* * *

Scandals was every bit as unexciting as it had been since the day Blaine had laid eyes on Kurt, and it was starting to piss him off. It was Saturday night, for fuck's sake. This was supposed to be his thing. Get out, get drunk, get laid. But now he couldn't stop thinking about Kurt long enough for any of the guys at the bar to stand a decent chance. None of them had eyes that blue, or skin that pale and smooth, or perfect pink lips that seemed made to dance with his. Fuck, even his attempts at getting drunk enough not to care who it was sucking his dick were disastrous.

The first drink he ordered tasted like it was mostly water, and it probably was. His fake ID got him in the door easily enough, but he still sensed a doubtful hesitation from the bartender whenever he ordered himself a drink, and he was pretty sure the guy made sure to give him more ice than alcohol every time. The second one was bought for him by an older man wearing a denim vest and cowboy boots – a fucking trucker, probably – and Blaine couldn't help but roll his eyes when the man leaned toward him and asked in a drunken, gravelly slur, "Wanna get outta here?"

"Not with you," Blaine replied snidely, slamming the empty glass down on the counter and laughing at the stunned and angry expression underneath the man's scraggly beard. "Thanks for the drink, though, Pops. I'll think of you when I'm swallowing someone else's come tonight."

It was all talk, and probably stupid, provoking a rough-looking older man with a sneer and a rude rejection, but fuck, he wasn't _that _desperate for a distraction. He slid from his stool before the man had much time to get good and mad and headed for the back door. He needed air. And a cigarette.

He needed to stop thinking about Kurt.

Before he could make it outside, though, another middle-aged lecher blocked his way, looking him up and down appreciatively with weird, almost-yellow eyes and holding out another drink. Blaine took it without a moment's pause. He fucking hated being leered at like that, but at this point he was willing to do anything to make this insane longing feel less heavy and festering. So fine. Let the horny old perverts buy him drinks. They could waste their money on him all night if they wanted. It wouldn't get them any closer to his ass.

One bitter swallow from the proffered glass told him he was drinking a gin and tonic, and he downed half of it before he caught a disturbing look of triumph in the man's strange eyes, like he'd just won some sort of game. His head started swimming almost instantly, and he dropped the glass as a sudden wave of panic and sickness overtook him. The man reached for his arm with long, bony fingers, but Blaine pushed roughly past him and stumbled to the filthy restroom to shove three fingers down his throat until the gin came rushing back, burning more on its way up than it had going down. He felt dizzy and fazed. The loud music in the club was somewhat muted in the bathroom, and the distant pulsing seemed to beat in time with a throbbing pain behind his temples. _Christ_. That motherfucker had tried to drug him.

Blaine stayed crouched on the gritty tile of the cramped bathroom stall for a long time, until his legs fell asleep and his attempts to gag himself no longer brought anything up, then headed back out to the dance floor. The lights spun and swirled queerly every time he moved his head, and he stood staring around the dark bar for a few minutes, kind of hoping to spot that prick who'd given him the drink so he could kick his ass, or at least land one solid punch before the bouncer threw him out.

But the man was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the whole crowd had thinned to about a dozen people. It must be late. Good. He was sick of being here anyway. Actually, he was kind of sick, period. He felt heavy and slow and confused, like there was a fog clouding around in his head. He moved for the door, bumping into a couple of vacated chairs on the way and twice having to clutch at empty tables to keep from falling over.

He took a deep breath when he finally reached the parking lot, and the cool night air felt amazing in his lungs. His stomach didn't feel quite as upset either, now, and his head cleared just enough for him to realize that he really needed a smoke. He felt anxious and jumpy, and his hands shook as they dug in his jacket pockets for his lighter. It clattered to the ground as soon as he pulled it out, his fingers shaking too violently to catch it when it slipped from his grasp. He bent to pick it up from the rough concrete under his feet, and his head swam viciously again as he tipped it toward the ground. He groped at the ground for a moment, blinded by the darkness of the night and hindered by his own dizziness, and his hand had just closed around it when something caught him hard in his chest, and he landed hard on the pavement a second later.

The wind was knocked out of him, and he struggled for a breath as he tried to aim his eyes in the direction the blow had come from. It was difficult; his head still felt too heavy on his neck and the hard fall had only further muddied his senses. But he had landed underneath the dim bulb of light just outside the door to the bar, and soon the thing – the man – who'd knocked him flat stepped right into view.

Shit.

It was the trucker. The one he'd cruelly dismissed right before he'd spent the rest of the night hurling into a filthy public toilet. Blaine guessed it had been one of those hideous boots that had sent him crashing to the ground a moment ago. Apparently this guy was not the type to forgive and forget.

Normally, he would have welcomed this kind of thing. He knew how to fight, had spent several long months teaching himself to box two years ago. He was angry enough, hurt enough, that the violence came almost naturally to him. But right now he seriously doubted that he'd be able to even stand upright without help, let alone dodge blows or take an effective swing. But hell. He still wasn't just going to lie there and take abuse from some bitter old man. He'd done enough of that back home.

He made a rather pathetic attempt to get to his feet, and ended up falling to his hands and knees on the ground, still too fazed to make his limbs work properly. The trucker laughed at him and aimed another brutal kick at his ribs, and he grunted in pain before trying to stand again, this time at least managing to keep himself upright by leaning against the brick wall behind him. The man was bearing down on him, his eyes bright with fury even in the darkness, but Blaine didn't cower under the glare.

Instead, he forced the cocky smirk onto his face and heaved, "Your persistence is admirable, but no, sorry. I still don't wanna go home with you."

This time the blow came down on his face, a heavy, hard fist slamming square into his nose, and his vision went out completely for a second before he blinked up at the trucker's livid face again. Blood was streaming from his nose now, the metallic wet of it seeping between his lips as he smiled stubbornly up at the ugly, angry face. God, it was too easy. He barely had to say ten words to make this man practically insane with rage. He couldn't hit him right now, no. But he could still win this way, could still make sure this sick fuck went home miserable and hating himself.

"Don't be fucking smart with me," the trucker growled at him, one fist firmly grasping the collar of Blaine's shirt and the other raised behind him and ready to strike his face again. "I hate little faggot bitches that don't know how to show respect."

"You're calling me a faggot because I wouldn't let you fuck me?" Blaine slurred, chuckling darkly and still smug despite the steady run of blood coursing over his lips and the sharp sting that twisted in his ribcage every time he spoke. "Wow. Hideous, old as the fucking hills, _and_ a hypocrite. You really are the whole package, huh?"

The man brought his hand down on Blaine's face one, two, three more times, each strike feeling harder than the last. Blaine felt like his cheekbone might have shattered in his face, and he slumped to the cement again when the man let go of his collar. Another kick was aimed at him where he sat on the ground, the boot making contact with the same side as before, and Blaine coughed a spray of blood as he cried out with the force of it. This time he didn't look up at the man, didn't dare taunt him with more jeering eye contact.

"That's better," the man sneered from over him, and Blaine flinched when the man leaned down and patted at his chest, feeling the pockets of his jacket and then his jeans until he found Blaine's wallet. He stood, helping himself to the cash in the pocket. "That drink I bought you was only five bucks," the man growled at him. "But I think I'll take the rest for all the trouble you caused me, you little shit."

He tossed the wallet in Blaine's lap and turned to leave, and Blaine knew he should let it go, should sit still and shut up and watch the man walk away. But where was the fun in that?

"Good idea," he choked out, the ache in his chest making it near impossible to speak now. "You can use it to buy yourself a cheap fuck. No one's ever gonna lay a hand on your ugly ass for free."

Now he'd done it. The trucker let out a low hiss of rage and came back at him, and Blaine braced himself for what was sure to be the worst round of blows. He counted four more strikes to his head and six more ruthless kicks before the pain and lingering sickness overwhelmed him, and he blacked out cold and alone on the concrete.

* * *

He woke up on Sunday morning – wait, no, Sunday _afternoon_ – feeling worse than he ever had in his life. The room was spinning when he opened his eyes and his body felt like it had been hit by a goddamn truck. A truck with a beard and ugly cowboy boots. He was thirsty and aching and nauseous, and if his head wasn't currently splitting itself in two, it certainly felt like it was.

It hurt to think, but he tried to remember the walk home anyway. He had only vague flashes of the long stretch of highway he had to follow to get back to his room from West Lima, where Scandals was located. It was a miracle he'd made it back in the state he was in. Fuck, he'd been lucky. If a cop had found him wandering along the side of the road, bleeding and half out of his mind from alcohol and whatever chemical had been in that laced drink, he'd have been in deep shit. But it had been so late, hardly a car on the road the whole way. He remembered stopping a few times to puke in the grass or to hold the stitch in his side where his ribs were likely bruised. And he remembered wandering the halls of the hotel once he'd finally made it back, confused and searching for his room number, finally recognizing the chipped paint on the wall next to the door marked 118. He'd fumbled for a few minutes with his key before managing to get the door open, clumsily sliding both locks in place behind him and crashing immediately onto his mattress.

So here he was. There was a stiffness in his spine and an ugly brown stain of dried blood on his pillowcase. He was sticky from sweating half the night in the bar and from kneeling on the grimy floor of its bathroom. He stretched experimentally, testing his body, making himself aware of what hurt the most. His ribcage. He traced a hand lightly over his side and winced, letting out a short gasp of pain as he felt the bruises there. His lips were stuck together, dried blood and vomit crusted over his chin, and the yawn that escaped his dry mouth a moment later was painful, too. Fuck, his nose. He stood gingerly and walked to the bathroom, flipping the light switch and screwing his eyes shut as it flickered on, the brightness of it amplifying the pain in his head tenfold. When he could finally blink his eyes open he took a look in the mirror to survey the damage.

Fuck. He looked like hell. There was a wicked purple bruise on one cheek, and his nose was discolored as well. It was only a little swollen though, and looked about the same shape as always, so it probably wasn't broken. His blood had dried in a crackled splotch over his jaw, and there was a small gash on his lips, which were puffy and a darker shade of red than usual. The only thing on his face that wasn't altered were his eyes. There were no swollen lids or angry red veins there, because he hadn't allowed himself to cry.

And he didn't now, either, even if the sight of himself in the mirror was rather distressing. He turned on the sink, catching the cold water in a cupped hand and bringing it to his lips, swilling it around and spitting the filth from his mouth before drinking from his hand for several minutes. When his throat was no longer dry and scratchy he ran the water as hot as he could stand it and slowly washed the muck from his face, scrubbing at his skin harshly even though it hurt. Once the mess was cleaned away he didn't look too bad, really. Certainly not as bad as that night two years ago. His face would probably be good as new in a few days.

Now for the rest of him. He slowly rolled his shoulders free from his jacket, moving carefully and trying to keep his torso still, because even just breathing too deeply caused almost unbearable waves of pain to stab through his body. He tossed his jacket aside and then grasped the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up and over his head cautiously, trying to drag the cotton across his skin as little as possible.

Ah. This was worse. There was a deep purple bruise on his sternum from that first kick. The one that had knocked him over while he'd been searching for his dropped lighter. He ran his fingers over it and yes, the skin there was raised slightly into a welt. He pressed into it with his palm, as though he could make it lie flat with a little pressure. His right side was even uglier, the whole expanse of his ribs on that side black and blue and swollen. He leaned this way and that, trying to figure out the most comfortable way to hold his body after all it had been through the night before. Fuck. This was going to suck for a while. He was a little worried that a few of his ribs might even be broken, but there wasn't much he could do about that. If he went to the hospital his parents would surely be contacted, and that possibility was much more unpleasant than suffering in silence for a few weeks while he healed.

He turned around in his tiny bathroom and crossed to his tub, putting the stopper in the drain and turning the water on. He would soak and sleep today and hopefully be better tomorrow, because he had to go to school. He didn't think even the most patient and forgiving of his teachers would stand for any more absences. Steam rose up from the bath and warmed the room, and Blaine quickly and carefully stepped out of his jeans and socks. He went to his desk to grab his copy of _The Outsiders –_ he may as well get something done while he sat in the water – and Kurt's books of poetry caught his eye, too, so he piled them up and took them with him to the bathroom.

The water was hot. Too hot, really, but Blaine sighed into the tub anyway. The steam made it easier to breathe without his chest hitching in pain as his lungs stretched and put pressure on his ribcage. He sat still for a long moment, letting his body adjust to the heat and focusing on inhaling shallowly so as not to hurt himself further. After a few minutes of quiet he twisted gently in the tub, reaching a hand over the side for one of the books. He meant to grab the novel, but he couldn't see the covers without full on craning over the edge, and he wasn't feeling up to moving that way quite yet, so he picked the first one he could grip in his fingers.

_Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats_.

It was a skinny orange book with silly little drawings of cats wearing a bunch of different hats on the cover. Kurt had said T.S. Eliot was a very famous poet, and that these poems had all been turned into songs for some musical or other. Honestly, he couldn't really remember what it was Kurt had told him. He had been too busy staring at his lips to care much about the words they were saying, but he was pretty sure Kurt had said this was one of his favorite books, so he tried hard not to get it wet as he opened it.

In the upper right hand corner of the inside cover he saw a sentence printed in neat handwriting. _This book belongs to Kurt Hummel._ It trailed across the top of the jacket, the last words angling downwards slightly, as if the hand that wrote them had been young and unpracticed. His lips quirked into a smile as he imagined a younger Kurt writing his name in this book, and he brushed over the last two words with a fond trace of his thumb. Kurt Hummel.

The ache he suddenly felt in his chest had nothing to do with the severe kick it had taken the night before.

* * *

Kurt was possibly more anxious in the school's courtyard Monday morning than he'd ever been in his entire life. And that was saying quite a lot. He'd been nervous before show choir competitions, and before giving speeches in class, and before debuting a new outfit at school, but this took the cake. He couldn't wait even one more second to see Blaine. Weekends were now too long and too boring and too devoid of kisses for his liking.

He was sitting at the usual table outside with Mercedes, his ankle twitching back and forth and his eyes darting every which way across the courtyard, hoping and praying that at any moment this horrific wait would come to an end, and he'd finally, _finally_ glimpse those hazel eyes and that mischievous grin that stopped his heart dead in its tracks.

"Kurt, could you please calm down? The jitterbug you're doing over there is shaking the entire table." Mercedes was giving him a look again, so he feigned a sudden interest in his history textbook. It probably wasn't too convincing, though, because he kept glancing up every few seconds, scanning the crowd of students for a hooded leather jacket.

"Okay," Mercedes interrupted his charade, turning his head with two of her fingers until he was forced to meet her eyes. "I didn't want to say anything the other night in front of Rachel "Big Mouth" Berry, but I know that you don't have a crush on a Dalton boy."

Kurt blinked at her. She knew? How did she know?

Mercedes went on as if she had just read his mind. "You didn't start acting crazy until after you transferred back to McKinley, and you're constantly checking your watch and staring around the cafeteria at lunch. Like you're waiting for someone, or looking for someone, or –"

"Don't be ridiculous," Kurt waved a hand in the air and laughed her off, but then – he couldn't help it – his eyes flickered once again across the faces gathered in the common area, and Mercedes jabbed a finger into his shoulder.

"See?" she crowed. "You just did it again!"

"I – I did not!" Kurt protested, but even as he denied it he was half-standing in his seat and looking over the heads crowded near their table, because there, he thought he saw it. That mass of unruly curls was just barely visible over by the steps. Kurt tuned Mercedes out entirely as he stared at Blaine's back, silently willing him to turn around so he could see the handsome face he'd had to settle for dreaming of for the past two days.

A second later, he got his wish. Blaine turned suddenly, and again it was almost as if there was some silent, powerful draw between them. Their eyes met and Kurt's mouth fell open at once as he took him in.

It was the same face. The same dark, guarded, wary expression resting behind the eyes. The same furrowed brow and long nose and perfect lips. But now there were bruises stamped across his features, and Kurt's heart seized up as he saw them, as though the strong, beating muscle of emotion in his chest had been battered, too.

Blaine turned away without so much as a nod in his direction, walking up the stairs that led to the math hallway. Kurt and Mercedes had Civics first period, clear in the opposite direction, and the bell was sure to ring any minute, but he couldn't bring himself to care about class when Blaine had obviously been hurt, and badly. He quickly shoved his history book back in his bag and stood from the table.

"Where are you going now?" Mercedes asked him. "Class starts in three minutes."

"I...I, uh...bathroom," he sputtered, nearly tripping over the bench as he stood from it in his haste to follow Blaine.

He was halfway to the steps in an instant, just barely hearing Mercedes shout, "I'm onto you, Kurt Hummel!" after him before bounding up the stairs two at a time and turning in the direction of the Statistics classroom. That was where Blaine should be this hour. When he reached the door he peered into the little window to see if he could spot Blaine sitting inside, wanting desperately to get a better look at him but also dreading seeing the bruises up close. They'd looked bad enough from clear across the courtyard.

Blaine wasn't in the room yet. No one was, apart from Mr. Miller, the teacher. The warning bell rang, and the rest of the students came filing in from outside, heading for their respective classes. Kurt craned around desperately. He could have sworn he was right behind Blaine a moment ago, so where was he? He should be here, class was starting any second, and –

A hand clasped around his wrist and tugged, and when Kurt wheeled around to see who had grabbed him, he was once again staring at the back of Blaine's leather jacket, the gray knit hood pulled up over his head now, probably to shield his damaged face from view. He hurried to keep up as Blaine dragged him wordlessly away from the classrooms to the end of the hall, craning his neck to try and peek under the hood at Blaine's face, but it was no use. Blaine was moving too fast and wouldn't turn to look at him.

He stopped outside the men's restroom at the end of the hall, wrenching the door open and pushing Kurt somewhat roughly inside. Kurt spun around to stare as Blaine followed him, and he gasped loudly as he lowered his hood.

It was bad. His right cheek was purple and blotchy, and his nose was bruised too, yellow and gray and somewhat swollen on one side. He thought he saw a gash through both of his lips, too, but before he could be sure, Blaine crossed the few feet separating them and kissed him hard and long and deep, his tongue pushing past Kurt's stunned lips and stroking every corner of his mouth it could reach. He was shocked, but he opened his mouth willingly and let Blaine taste him, let the warm wet of Blaine's tongue distract him from the hundreds of questions chasing each other through his mind.

But he tasted blood when he traced his own tongue over Blaine's swollen lips a moment later, and the sharp tang of it brought him back to his senses. He pushed Blaine away from him, gentle but firm, and held on to his shoulders as he searched the damaged, beautiful face in front of him. Blaine seemed uncomfortable under the scrutiny, running a hand through his hair and looking away, but Kurt followed his eyes and held on until they were gazing at each other.

The eyes were the worst part for Kurt. They were fine, really. Still that same dark, intense hazel, the skin around them unmarred by the discoloration that seemed to be spread over the rest of his face. But there was something sad and fearful and doubting in them, as though Blaine was worried what his reaction would be to seeing him like this.

He reached up and held Blaine's face in his hands as gently as he could. "Baby, what happened to you?" he whispered, concern gnawing at his insides as he looked at him. Blaine tilted his head just slightly and a question ghosted through his wide eyes, and Kurt blushed as he realized what he'd said.

"You –," Blaine started, sounding both surprised and impressed, but Kurt cut him off in his embarrassment.

"Sorry," he muttered, dropping his hands away from Blaine's face and twisting his fingers together awkwardly in front of him. "It just slipped out. I didn't –"

"It's okay," Blaine said, and Kurt didn't know whether to be frustrated or relieved when the familiar arrogant smirk made its way to Blaine's drastically changed face. "You can call me baby, baby."

Kurt smiled a little despite his distress, and Blaine leaned forward to kiss him again with his busted lips, but he backed away and gave him a stern look. "No, come on," he pleaded. "Tell me what happened. Did Karofsky –"

Now Blaine was laughing, a short bark and then an amused shake of his head. "No way. That asshole is too scared to come within fifty feet of me."

"Oh," Kurt said, still gaping at the bruises and the bloody cut on those lips that he worshiped in his every spare moment and wondering how they got there. The truly astonishing thing was how gorgeous Blaine was even with so many scrapes and swellings scattered over his features. It still sent a painful wave of awe through him to look at that face. "Well then who...?" he trailed off as Blaine gripped him by his hips, walking them slowly backwards until his shoulders bumped into the wall, and Blaine's mouth was on him again.

"I had a rough weekend," Blaine explained shortly, kissing over Kurt's throat and squeezing his hips with strong hands. "How about you help me forget about it?"

"But –" Kurt tried, but Blaine's mouth was on his before he could finish.

Blaine pulled away a second later just long enough to growl into Kurt's jaw. "No more questions, baby. Let's put your mouth to better use. I missed it."

His hands were sliding up Kurt's sides now, roaming over him like he was desperate to learn every curve and angle of his body, and Kurt gave in, well aware that Blaine wouldn't tell him a thing if he didn't want to, and once again glad to find himself pinned so firmly against something that could hold his weight. He certainly couldn't do it himself, not when Blaine talked to him like that and touched him like that and kissed him like he'd been waiting to for days. He let himself melt under Blaine's mouth, eagerly parting his lips when Blaine licked at them again a second later, begging to be let in.

They stayed at it for a long time. Much longer than they should have. They were starving for each other, tongues meeting furiously and teeth nipping at skin and hands, _god_, hands all over. Here and there Blaine would suck in a sharp, shallow breath when their kisses were hard enough to hurt his sore lips, but Kurt could only mumble half an apology before Blaine covered his mouth again, swallowing the words and letting out a low moan that seemed to say the pain was worth it. Blaine tasted like blood and cigarettes, like want and need, and it was so good that Kurt didn't even care that they were almost surely going to miss the entirety of first period.

What finally stopped them was the sound of the bathroom door swinging open. Kurt jerked his face away from Blaine's, their lips breaking apart with a loud, wet _smack_, and they both turned to see who had the nerve to have to pee while they were trying to make out in here. Kurt groaned as he recognized Chad Fellows, a tall, gangly member of the debate team who was in their year, and worse, in Kurt's Civics class. He was standing in the doorway and staring at them stupidly, and Kurt just knew this wasn't going to be good. Chad sat right in front of Mercedes in their class, and he often worked with them when they were assigned group projects. He was probably very confused as to what Kurt was doing hanging around in the bathroom instead of going to class, though he surely would work out the answer any second now, since Blaine still had his hands on him, one on his waist and one shoved into the back pocket of his jeans.

Blaine let out an annoyed, impatient sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl, and then snapped, "Something we can help you with?"

Chad just stood there, his mouth opening and closing dumbly for a moment before he finally managed to state the obvious. "I need to use the bathroom."

"Go use a different one," Blaine ordered, and Kurt couldn't help it. He giggled wildly, tipping his head forward and burying his face in Blaine's shoulder to muffle the sound and hide his broad grin.

Chad didn't immediately move. He looked back and forth between the two of them, holding up a little rectangular piece of pink paper lamely and trying again. "But I have a hall pass –"

"Good for you," Blaine interrupted with mock excitement, before his face fell back into an angry, threatening frown."Now get the fuck out."

As soon as the door swung shut behind Chad's retreating back, Kurt was laughing again. He didn't exactly know why. It wasn't particularly funny, knowing that Chad would likely tell Mercedes all about what he'd seen the second his butt plopped back down in his seat in Civics class. Mercedes would tell Tina, Tina would tell Mike, Mike would tell the rest of the guys and pretty soon the whole Glee Club would know. Disaster.

He pulled himself together after a few moments and beamed at the battered, beautiful face in front of him, still not entirely sure why he was so unperturbed by the fact that his secret dalliance with Blaine wouldn't be a secret much longer. "Well, that's that," he said with a matter-of-fact shrug. "No hiding it now."

"Is that okay?" Blaine asked, looking at him intently, like he was searching for signs of panic in his eyes.

Kurt nodded, another bubble of laughter bursting from his mouth as he realized just how little he cared what everyone would think when they found out.

"Good," Blaine said, tracing a thumb over Kurt's smiling lips and grinning too, that same sly grin that had first sent Kurt's world into a tailspin. "So where were we, baby?"

Still smiling like a fool, Kurt leaned forward to remind Blaine exactly where they had left off, lip to lip and tongue to tongue and fingers twisting into each other's hair.

And after only a few more moments of heated, happy kisses, Kurt knew he was a goner. He could make himself as many promises as he liked. Could tell himself that he wouldn't give in to Blaine's insistent sexual advances, that things wouldn't progress any further than kissing, that he wouldn't let his wild teenage hormones make his decisions for him, but, well, he'd be lying. None of his usual rules applied when it came to Blaine Anderson.

Kurt was already his, simple as that, and he couldn't stop smiling.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Omigod. This chapter has been a hard beast to tame, you guys. It kept getting longer and longer and still wasn't where I wanted it to be, but you've all been waiting so patiently, so I split it once again and have left you hanging at probably the cruelest place possible. But it's going to be worth it. So, so worth it.

Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing as always. Hugs. Hugs all around.

* * *

**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 6**

* * *

Kurt was only a few minutes late to second period once he and Blaine finally let go of each other, his cheeks flushed pink and Blaine's lips even more swollen than they were to begin with. They'd spent a full hour kissing like the only air worth breathing was in each other's lungs, and Kurt was still somewhat dazed as he sat down in class. He miraculously managed to breeze through his French assignment without getting too distracted. Worries about what had actually happened to Blaine over the weekend started to wander through his head again, however, when he was finished with his work and bent back over his sketchbook, smudging the lead into shadows on the figures' faces.

The part of the day he was most dreading was lunch, but he marched to the cafeteria halfway through the day standing as straight as he could and adopting what he hoped was an expression of haughty determination. He was prepared for a loud telling-off from most of his friends, inappropriate, probing questions from Santana and likely some form of congratulatory high-five from Puck. But no one gave him the slightest bit of grief. Instead they offered their usual nods of greeting and continued their own conversations. Prom seemed to be the dominant point of discussion, the girls talking about their dresses and who the court victors would be while the guys seemed ready to get the whole affair over with, mumbling resentfully about the cost of corsages and tuxedo rentals while making strange and revolting towers out of the less-appealing food on their lunch trays.

Huh. Maybe Chad Fellows hadn't told anyone what he'd walked in on in the restroom, after all. He supposed Blaine was a fairly intimidating person even (or especially) with a dark scatter of bruises on most of his face, so maybe he'd been too scared to share.

This theory was unfortunately proven wrong as soon as the bell rang for the start of Home Economics at the end of the day. He was battling a sort of fog in his brain left over from English class two hours before, where he had listened to Ms. Fox read the poetry of John Keats while Blaine tripped his warm fingers over the back of his neck, but the happy haze lifted as soon as he sat down next to Mercedes, who was glaring at him and drumming her nails expectantly on the tabletop while Mrs. Hagberg gave them her typically shrill instructions from the front of the room.

"What?" Kurt asked, glancing at his friend's raised eyebrows and pursed lips nervously.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Kurt?" she asked, and her voice was too calm. It didn't match her accusing expression, and alarm bells were ringing loudly between his ears as he stared at her. His brain scrambled wildly for a way to avoid whatever confrontation she was planning.

"I can't wait to see your prom dress," he tried, rather desperately. "Plum is a really great color choice for your skin tone –"

Mercedes was done skirting around the issue. Her eyes were flashing as she leaned toward him and hissed, "_Blaine Anderson_? Are you out of your damn mind?"

Kurt turned away from her, blushing as he ran his finger down the list of ingredients they were supposed to be gathering for their recipe, trying to appear too focused on class to have heard her. It didn't work. Mercedes snatched the card away from him, and he was forced to look back at her and flounder for some kind of explanation. She spared him after one brief moment of awkward silence. Apparently she had plenty to say on the matter herself and didn't need any contribution from him to carry on.

"Chad told me he found you two groping each other in the bathroom earlier. You're lucky I know he plagiarized his last speech in Mr. Farley's class and threatened to tell, or it'd probably be all over the school by now."

"He did?" Kurt asked, trying once again to distract her. "I knew he couldn't have come up with all that stuff about the '_geometry of despair_' by himself. What a –"

"Don't change the subject, Kurt," Mercedes snapped. Dammit. She was hanging on to this news like a rottweiler to a raw steak. "You just barely avoided being front page fodder for Jacob Ben Israel's gossip blog."

Kurt let out an annoyed huff of air. "What's the big deal? So I found someone I like kissing, like every other teenager on earth. Does it really matter if everyone finds out?"

"Yes!" Mercedes exclaimed. A few of their classmates turned around to stare at them, and Mercedes gestured furiously for them to turn around and mind their own business before lowering her voice and continuing her lecture. "Kurt, you're not thinking this through. A cute boy is kissing the common sense right on out your head. Do you have any idea what would happen if the football team knew about this? Think about how much trouble they gave you just for being you, and now you're letting another guy put his hands all over you in the middle of school? What if Karofsky or Azimio had walked in on that instead of Chad?"

Kurt hadn't thought of that. Still, Karofsky was hardly an issue, after what Blaine had done to him a week ago. "Nothing's going to happen. Most people are kind of afraid of him –"

Mercedes interrupted him. "I know, Kurt. But I just had class with him last period, and you saw his face! He's not invincible. If a whole group of guys decided to hurt you, they probably could. And another thing about all those bruises: how do you think he got those? You heard what Rachel said about him the other day. He seems to find himself in trouble pretty often."

"That's not fair," Kurt protested. "You don't know him."

"Oh, and you do?" Mercedes said. "How long has this been going on? A week? Not long enough for you to know what you're getting yourself into."

"Fine," Kurt admitted. "Maybe I'm being reckless and stupid and moving way too fast with a boy I hardly know. But it's not fair that I have to be so damn _cautious_ all the time. Everyone else gets to be a kid and make mistakes and have some careless fun once in a while. I just want to experience the same things as anyone else our age."

Mercedes seemed to soften at this. "Even heartache?"

Kurt gnawed thoughtfully on his bottom lip; he could still taste Blaine's cigarettes there. "Yes," he said eventually. "I know it probably won't last, but in the meantime, I don't know, he makes me feel...wanted. No one's ever noticed me or looked at me the way he does, and it's...really nice."

"I know," Mercedes sighed, giving his arm a sympathetic squeeze and smiling softly for the first time since Blaine had come up. "I want you to be happy, Kurt, really, and if you think this is something good for you, then I'll do my best to be happy for you, too. But be careful, okay? And I don't just mean around the neanderthal jocks in the halls. You don't know this guy – no one does – and I don't want to see you get hurt."

Kurt gave her a grim smile. "I will," he promised her, and then, "So you'll keep my secret?"

Mercedes nodded and gave him an affectionate nudge. "Of course, boo. But you make sure he knows he'll deal with me if he breaks your heart."

Kurt laughed, and he spent the rest of class filling his friend in on the eventful past week of his life, and on the study dates in the library that were really more kissing than studying. They were whispering and giggling in the back row of the classroom for the next half hour, until Mrs. Hagberg came by their desk and saw that the quiche they were supposed to be cooking was still just a soupy egg mixture. They tried to finish faster by heating their oven about 100 degrees hotter than the recipe instructed, but all that did was burn the edges to an ashy crisp and leave the center practically raw. When the bell rang Mrs. Hagberg decided to punish them by forcing them to clean everyone's work stations, and by the time they finished Kurt was more than a little late for his study session with Blaine.

They finally pushed out of the classroom to find the hallways completely empty. Well, empty with the exception of Blaine, who was leaning on the wall just outside the door, waiting for him. He glanced between Kurt and Mercedes uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure whether or not it was okay to speak to Kurt in front of one of his friends, and the three of them stood there awkwardly, everyone staring at everyone else in turn and trying to figure out the least uncomfortable way to start a conversation.

Kurt eventually cleared his throat and made to introduce the two of them. He gestured to Blaine somewhat vaguely and started, "Mercedes, this is –"

"We have a class together," Blaine reminded him dully, his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, right," He stood rocking on his feet, waiting for someone else to make the effort. Mercedes spoke up after another long, tense moment, but what she said was even worse than the pained silence.

"So are you Kurt's boyfriend, or what?" she asked, her tone a little demanding, as if she wanted answers as to what exactly this guy's intentions were with her best friend and she wanted them now.

"_Mercedes_," Kurt groaned, his face probably as red as a fire engine with embarrassment. He had never said anything about Blaine being his boyfriend, and he was about to loudly correct her assumption when Blaine pulled him close and slipped an arm around his waist possessively.

"I wouldn't say that," Blaine said, watching Mercedes with obvious amusement and challenging her with his eyes as he nipped at Kurt's jaw. "But I have been spending an awful lot of time sucking his tongue lately."

Speaking of fire engines, they would probably be needing to call one any minute now, since Kurt's face felt like it was about to burst into actual flames.

Mercedes wasn't bothered by Blaine's bluntness. "I'd be bragging too, if I were you," she said, sending a little smile and a wink in Kurt's direction before narrowing her eyes at Blaine. "But let me tell you something, grease monkey. If anything bad happens to my man Kurt, that busted face you're rockin' is gonna look good compared to what I do to you."

Blaine grinned darkly and pressed his fingers into the sharp jut of a hip as Kurt's face burned, if possible, even hotter. "I'm gonna do bad things to your friend," he said to her, laughter plain in his voice. "But don't worry, he won't have any complaints."

"We really should get to the library," Kurt said loudly, hoping to end the incredibly awkward ordeal before it got any more excruciating. "Lots of studying to do."

Mercedes just rolled her eyes and looked at Kurt with knowing disapproval as she turned to leave the hall, as if to tell him she knew full well he and Blaine were not going to be doing homework in the library. "See you, Kurt," she said as she walked away, giving him one last warning look that said, quite clearly, _And be careful_. He gave a helpless little wave as she disappeared around the corner and then turned sharply to Blaine.

"Was that necessary?" he asked, exasperated and trying to ignore the fact that Blaine still had one arm around his middle, because it was hard to stay frustrated when he was being held like that.

Blaine shrugged as innocently as someone like him could and released him. "She started it," he argued, smirking and following Kurt as he turned and headed toward the library. "What does she think I'm gonna do, kill you?"

"I told you it would be complicated once people knew," Kurt reminded him. "My friends are kind of protective of me after the year I've had."

They reached the library and opened the door, and both of them froze in surprise as they looked around the room. The typically quiet, empty space was actually sort of bustling and crowded. A couple dozen other students gathered at the tables just inside the door and holding what appeared to be some sort of extracurricular meeting. Mrs. Carlisle, the elderly librarian, spotted the two of them hanging back by the door and shuffled over.

"You can't use the library today, boys," she said. "The prom committee is having their final meeting and it's supposed to be closed."

Kurt's heart somehow managed to sink and soar at the same time. On the one hand, he was disappointed because this was supposed to be his time with Blaine, and okay, he admitted it, he was addicted to those lips and those hands and the way they could move over him. On the other hand..._prom_. Maybe he'd find out something good if he could just stay in this room and eavesdrop on the meeting...

"But we need to study," Kurt protested. "We'll be quiet. We'll sit back there in the corner and we won't make a sound or listen to a word they say, we promise."

Mrs. Carlisle sighed and glanced over at the other group of students and then back to Kurt and Blaine. Kurt grinned a little too broadly and put on his best innocent and hopeful expression, and for a moment he thought she was going to cave, but Blaine was working against him. He dug a cigarette from his jacket and placed it between his lips, which were lifted in a mischievous smile. Kurt and Mrs. Carlisle both gaped at him.

"What are you doing?" Kurt hissed, knocking Blaine's arm with his elbow and staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Blaine twisted away from him and shrugged as he flicked his lighter open, the small flame dancing in his shining hazel eyes. "I'm feeling a little on edge," he said, the cigarette still in his mouth and hopping slightly as he spoke around it. He took a drag once he lit it, blowing the smoke toward Mrs. Carlisle's shocked face a moment later and giving her a defiant grin. "You don't mind if I smoke in here, do you?"

"I most certainly do!" Mrs. Carlisle shouted, apparently forgetting that her workplace usually tolerated nothing louder than a whisper in her scandalized rage. "Put that out this instant!"

"Oh, come on," Blaine said with sarcastic earnestness. "I'll try _really_ hard not to set any of the books on fire."

"Out. Both of you," Mrs. Carlisle insisted, flapping her arms and shooing them both backwards to the door. "And you, Mr. Anderson, if I see you in here again I'll report you to Principal Figgins for smoking on school property."

The library door snapped shut behind them as they were shoved into the hall, and Kurt rounded on Blaine at once. "What is wrong with you?" he barked. "Why do you always have to test people like that?"

Blaine just smiled at him. "Calm down. We couldn't have gotten anything done in there anyway. It was too crowded."

"What are you talking about? The prom committee was only taking up two tables. The one in the corner was still wide open. We could have worked there just like we always do."

Blaine sighed. "It was too crowded for us to do anything _fun_," he explained, looking Kurt up and down meaningfully. "Now we can go somewhere more private."

"Do you even _want_ to pass your classes?" Kurt asked, his cheeks feeling warm just from the hunger in Blaine's eyes as they skipped over his body. "Because if you don't feel like trying you should tell me now so I can stop carting all these extra books around."

"I want a lot of things," Blaine said darkly, moving closer to him and still staring greedily.

"Like what?" Kurt asked, trying to sound combative but failing spectacularly as Blaine reached for his neck, causing a shiver to run down his spine and his voice to leave his mouth in a high, breathy whisper. He would have been scared of the wild look in Blaine's eyes if he wasn't so turned on, feeling heat twist tight in his stomach as Blaine leaned into him, tongue-led kisses flicking over his throat and along his jaw and finally at the sensitive spot just behind his ear.

A moment later the wet pressure was replaced by the soft brush of Blaine's lips as he answered the question, his body pressed so close and his voice pitched so low that Kurt could practically feel the bass of it rumbling in his own chest. "Like you," he growled, "I want you underneath me. I want your legs over my shoulders, your nails in my back, and your flesh in my hands." The words poured like thick paint into Kurt's mind, spreading and swirling and streaking until the vivid images were all he could see and all he wanted to see. "I want to taste every inch of your skin," Blaine said, and Kurt could feel him smiling wickedly against the hinge of his jaw. "But I'll take your lips for now. So let me take you somewhere you can give them to me."

Kurt wasn't proud of how easy it was for Blaine to distract him, but he hardly felt he could be blamed when Blaine was so seductive. He was powerless. "Where?" he breathed. "All of the classrooms are locked after school hours."

Blaine brought his cigarette to his mouth again, sucking the smoke into his lungs as his free hand grasped the strap of Kurt's school bag where it lay across his chest, tugging him gently along as he walked backwards to the door at the end of the hall. "How about my place, baby? I live right down the road."

"Your – your place?" Kurt stammered, feeling several things all at once. Excitement and terror and nervousness and then, suddenly, aggravation. "Oh my god," he said, halting in his tracks and pushing Blaine's hand away from him. "You only lit up in there to get me to go home with you!"

That stupid, beautiful, infuriating grin lit up Blaine's face and he held his hands up in a show of surrender. "Got me."

Kurt just stared at him, his mouth hanging open as he tried to decide whether to be furious or flattered. Or both. Blaine didn't seem patient enough to wait for him to figure it out.

"So tell me, baby," he said lightly, pushing the door open with one arm and smiling like he already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. " Did it work?"

* * *

"Turn left here," Blaine instructed from the passenger seat of Kurt's car about ten minutes later. Kurt flicked his turn signal on and got into the the left hand lane, having an intense but silent argument with himself as he tried to pay attention to Blaine's instructions. What in the hell was he doing? Sure, a few hours ago he'd come to terms with the fact that he was probably going to give Blaine everything he wanted, but he hadn't really planned on doing it _today_. What if he got in Blaine's house and panicked, or changed his mind? Could he just leave? Would that be rude? Maybe he could just drop Blaine off at the door, or go in and have a glass of lemonade or something and then be on his way.

"Green light, Hummel," Blaine said loudly, pointing out the windshield at the green arrow telling him he could turn. "Get going."

Kurt jumped in his seat, whipping the wheel a little too roughly and slamming his foot on the gas. The car peeled out into the intersection and Blaine was laughing at him. "What's so funny?" Kurt snapped. His nerves had him completely on edge and his voice came out a little angrier than he actually felt, but he didn't bother to apologize. He was struggling to breathe calmly and figured the less he tried to talk, the better.

"Nothing," Blaine said, but he wasn't even bothering to hide his wide, mocking smile. "Right at this stop sign, and then just pick a place to park."

The parking lot Blaine was directing him to was wide and empty, and Kurt leaned forward in his seat to crane around, looking for a house or an apartment complex, but he didn't see either one. Instead he was staring up at a sign that said _Wingate Hotel_. And now he really was a nervous wreck.

"Wait," he gasped, stopping his car in the middle of a lane. "Wait."

"Park the car," Blaine ordered, but Kurt shook his head violently.

"I – I can't go to a – a _hotel_ with you," he said, his voice high and hysterical. "I really like kissing you, okay, and I think I might want to do more eventually, but I – I'm not ready to, you know, _get a room_ or anything."

"Kurt –" Blaine tried to interrupt him, but Kurt was in too much of a frenzy to listen.

"I thought we were just going to make out for a while," he rambled on. "Maybe kiss on the couch or something until your parents got home. I didn't know you wanted to –"

"_Kurt_," Blaine tried again, more forcefully this time. He reached over and grasped Kurt's hand where it was clutching the steering wheel so tight the knuckles were turning white. "Park the car."

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut tight and shook his head again, and Blaine gave an impatient sigh. "You don't even have to get out, okay, but you need to park and move out of the aisle. There are people waiting behind you and they're starting to get pissed off."

A loud, blaring horn sounded behind them at that exact moment, and Kurt's eyes flew open and to his rearview mirror. There was an angry bald man in aviator sunglasses hanging out the window of a white SUV and wildly waving for him to get out of the way. Kurt pulled the car quickly out of the lane, parking crookedly and across two spaces in his hurry, and Blaine gave the SUV the finger as it sped past, horn still honking loudly.

Blaine twisted back around in his seat, staring at Kurt expectantly, as if waiting for him to finish freaking out. He didn't have to wait long.

"I'm just not ready yet," Kurt blurted out, and then he couldn't stop himself. "I've thought about it. A lot, actually, and I do want you to teach me...things. You know, like you said. But I thought we could go slow. One thing at a time, or something. And I'm only 17. How old do you have to be to get a hotel room? Don't you have to be older? And isn't it expensive? I don't have any money on me. And I thought maybe this would happen at night, when the moon was out or something. I was expecting – I don't know – candles, or...or roses, or some kind of slow jazz song playing in the background."

Blaine blinked at him, half a smirk just barely resting on his lips. He looked like he was struggling not to laugh. "Can I talk now?" he asked, and Kurt nodded his head once, his words apparently spent.

"I told you we were going to my place. I live here," he said, gesturing to the big brick building in front of them. The Wingate Hotel.

Kurt was confused. "But...this is a hotel."

"Yes, I know," Blaine said. "It's a hotel in Lima fucking Ohio. There isn't enough of a tourist trade here for them to stay booked up year-round, so they rent out the bottom floor as cheap apartments. They make more money that way and it makes them look full, which is good for business."

Kurt leaned forward in his seat again and stared at the building, as if he could judge the truth of this statement just by looking at it. Blaine was digging in his jacket pocket, and a second later he pulled out a flat white card key and held it up for Kurt to see. The logo and name printed on it were identical to the sign in the parking lot. Okay.

"And baby," Blaine said, leaning across the car and ducking his head until Kurt looked at him, and there was that open, kind expression that so rarely showed itself. "I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to. Ever."

Kurt let out a shaky, embarrassed laugh as he realized he'd sort of lost his mind over nothing, then asked shyly, uncertainly, "So...if I just want to kiss you?"

Blaine gave him a slick, sly smile again as he turned the car off and pulled the keys from the ignition. He dropped them into Kurt's hand and reached up to hold Kurt's jaw. "Open," he said, quiet but insistent, and Kurt parted his lips obediently, his heart pounding. "Hold still," Blaine demanded, and he closed the distance between their mouths, his tongue slipping past Kurt's lips and straight back, dragging along the roof of his mouth and across his own tongue fast and firm before pulling back out almost immediately, the tip tapping the back of Kurt's front teeth once before rushing in again. Kurt barely had time to enjoy the wet drag of it in his mouth before it was gone, and then back yet again. Over and over Blaine's tongue would thrust in and slide out, and Kurt whimpered with the push and pull of it, and then all at once realized what was happening.

_Oh._ Blaine was fucking his mouth with his tongue. _Fucking_. His _mouth_. With his _tongue_.

And almost as soon as Kurt wrapped his head around how good it felt, Blaine stopped, finally pulling away completely and laughing at the dumbstruck look on Kurt's face. "I can work with just kissing," he said, smirking and opening his door. "Now are you coming in, or what?"

Kurt could only nod, unfastening his seatbelt and throwing his bag over his shoulder in a strange daze as he followed Blaine to the nearest entrance to the hotel. Blaine held his card key up to a square gray box by the door. A red light blinked green and there was a mechanical whir and click as the door unlocked and Blaine opened it, stepping inside and holding the door for Kurt as he followed. There was a staircase immediately to the right, but Blaine led him past it and through another door, unlocked this time, and then they were in a hallway, doors to rooms lining both sides. Blaine turned left and started walking, and Kurt trailed behind, noting the brass numbers on the doors that could stand a little polishing, the moss green carpet beneath his feet that was worn and fraying in places, the paint that needed touching up. He suddenly felt like he might be suffocating, but he couldn't tell if it was the stiflingly warm, somewhat stale air of the hall or the fact that he was in a _hotel._ With a _guy._ With _Blaine_.

"The laundry room is there on the end," Blaine pointed down the hallway. "The dryers are almost always running, so that's why the hall is so hot."

Oh. So it was probably the air then. Blaine stopped next to a door on the left. 118. Kurt watched him slide his key card in the slot on the door handle, his heart hammering in his chest and his mind racing as the whir and click announced it was open. Blaine nudged into the room and held the door wide, waiting for Kurt to join him on the other side.

But he didn't. He was staring at the floor, at the invisible line drawn between the hall and the hotel room. He didn't have to go in. He could still turn around if he wanted. He could make some excuse and leave. Blaine was standing back and watching him silently. He didn't beg or plead or urge him to take the two steps forward that would mean, for Kurt at least, that he was really going to do this. It was entirely his decision, and he knew if he stepped through that door, there would be no turning back.

The room was cooler than the hall, Kurt noticed as the door clicked shut behind him. Blaine turned the bolt on the door and flicked the second lock in place, too, and Kurt might have been even more nervous at the idea of being alone with a sex-crazed teenage boy behind a locked door if he wasn't so busy being curious about the room itself. It had the same worn green carpet and aged paint as the hall, but it was nice. Much nicer than he'd expected. There was a small but perfectly respectable bathroom just to the right as you walked in the door, and a closet – well, it couldn't really be called a closet, since there was no door – to the left. It was a simple flat shelf with a hanging bar attached, and Kurt noticed vaguely that it was practically empty. Mostly bare hangers and a few nice shirts Kurt had never seen Blaine wear, and a messy pile of the white band tees and v-necks he always had on under his leather jacket. There was a small refrigerator and a microwave and a short counter with a kitchen sink along the wall, too. And then a desk with one lamp and one chair and a scatter of papers – Blaine's many overdue homework assignments, no doubt – littered across the top. A narrow window was directly opposite the door, letting in enough light to make the room seem friendly. Kurt took a few more tentative steps forward, aware of Blaine's eyes on him as he looked around and working hard to appear comfortable and at ease.

Wait a second.

There was only one room. And there was only one bed. Kurt had sort of been expecting more space, like the suite he'd stayed in with his cousins when his uncle got married in Michigan three summers ago. But this was even smaller than the room he'd briefly had to share with Finn at their old house. How did a whole family live in here all the time? Did Blaine's parents have the adjoining room or something? These and a thousand other new questions were suddenly racing through his mind.

"Where do you sleep?" he asked first, and Blaine smirked, but his brow creased slightly at the question, as if it confused him.

"On the bed," he gestured with an arm at the tangle of sheets on the unmade bed. "But there are much better things to do there than sleep, baby. I'll show you sometime. "

"Oh," Kurt ignored him. "Well, then where do your parents sleep?"

Blaine laughed. "I'd imagine they sleep in their bed, in their house," he said. "But, come to think of it, things _were_ kind of strained between them last time we talked. So I guess my dad might find his ass on the couch from time to time."

Kurt stared at him. "You don't live with your parents?" he asked, and he couldn't hide the disbelief in his voice. Blaine was in high school. A teenager. Surely he couldn't live on his own. Although that would explain how he got away with skipping school and smoking like a chimney.

"Nope," Blaine said, shrugging and starting to look uncomfortable. "They live in Findlay."

"But that's like an hour away," Kurt said, practically laughing with shock. "When do you...I mean, don't you see them?"

"No," Blaine said shortly, and the easy, joking lilt in his voice had completely vanished. "I don't live with them, I don't see them, and I don't want to talk about them, either, so think of something else to ask your stupid questions about or don't talk at all."

Kurt shrank back at his harsh tone, blinking furiously as he felt tears forming in his eyes. Blaine had never talked to him like that before. He'd been blunt and suggestive and pushy, but never mean. Only moments after stepping into the room, Kurt was ready to leave it again, hurt and angry and embarrassed by how badly he wanted to cry. He turned and stalked to the door, and he'd managed to undo both locks and turn the handle when Blaine's hands were suddenly there on either side of him, palms flat against the door, holding it shut.

"Shit. I'm sorry," Blaine muttered into Kurt's shoulder. "Don't go."

"You're an asshole," Kurt said, pleased to hear his voice come out more angry than sad. He tried to wrench the door open, but it barely moved half an inch before Blaine was pushing back against it around him and it slammed shut again. Another tug didn't even budge the door in its frame, so Kurt stopped pulling on the handle and crossed his arms over his chest instead. When he refused to turn around, Blaine's forehead tipped to rest between his shoulder blades and he felt a frustrated sigh breathed into his shirt.

"I know," Blaine said. His typically confident tone had sunken into one far more sullen and dejected, and he dropped his hands away from the door a second later. Of course, now that Kurt was free to leave, he couldn't make his feet carry him back out of the room, and Blaine took the opportunity to keep talking. "I'm just not used to anyone asking questions about my life, okay? People tend to keep their distance and I like it that way."

Making sure to keep his eyes narrowed and his jaw set, he turned around to shoot Blaine a glare. "Excuse me if I thought being invited to your...your, uh –" Kurt didn't exactly know how to refer to the room he was standing in. Blaine's home? His apartment? His hotel room? "– well, where you live – meant we might actually start getting to know each other."

"We _have_ been getting to know each other," Blaine argued, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"We're well-acquainted with each other's tongues, and that's about it," he corrected irritably.

Blaine grinned as his eyes swept over Kurt's body again. "Not enough for you?" he asked, his hands making their way to Kurt's hips and skirting around until they were resting on the small of his back. "I'd like to get to know the rest of you, too, baby. Just say the word."

"That's not what I mean," Kurt was really starting to hate the way he could feel like hitting Blaine and falling into his arms at the same time. "I'm the only person at school who thinks there might be more to you than a mean streak and a nicotine addiction. I just want to know that I'm not wrong."

"You're not," Blaine said, his fingers pushing gently into Kurt's back, moving him away from the door and back into the room. "We can talk sometime, and I'll tell you all about my shitty life. But right now all you really need to know is how much I want you."

"Look, just because I'm here and so is...your bed...doesn't mean we should just...ignore...all of the work we, uh, we have to do," Kurt said, feeling the need to clarify his intentions now that he knew they were going to be alone. Alone. Just the two of them.

Apparently Blaine disagreed. He had already toed off his shoes and tossed his jacket and school bag aside, and was sitting on the edge of the mattress and holding out his hands to Kurt, silently inviting him to join him there. His t-shirt was clinging to his body and his curls were a little wild from the car ride, and oh man, even with those bruises he looked incredible. Like every teenage dream Kurt had never allowed himself to have.

"Are you listening?" Kurt asked, flustered because he really wanted to take Blaine's offered hands and forget about school for a little while. Forget about everything except the fact that a handsome boy his age wanted him. _Wanted_ him. But, _shit_, he shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. "We should do our homework. Or kiss, maybe, but that's it. Just kissing."

Blaine grinned, arms still outstretched, his dark features confident and welcoming and fuck, now Kurt was walking toward him without even thinking.

"Kissing is more fun on a bed," he promised, grasping Kurt's fingers and tipping backwards onto the mattress, tugging Kurt down with him. A stunned, thrilled laugh burst from Kurt's mouth as he landed on top of Blaine's chest.

"Oh yeah?" he challenged breathlessly, smiling despite his shock and nervousness. His heart fluttered wildly as Blaine reached up to hold his face, grinning hugely at him and stroking his cheeks with calloused thumbs. A moment later a strong arm wrapped around his middle and rolled him over, and then he was on his back on the bed, staring up into Blaine's eyes. They were darker than he'd ever seen them.

"Yeah," Blaine assured him, his voice low and smooth and serious as he lowered his lips to Kurt's and kissed him once, slowly, as if to show him how nice it could be here, on the soft sheets and warm plush of the bed. Kurt's stomach swooped as Blaine's tongue rolled fluidly with his own, the solid weight of him pressing into his body and settling him further into the mattress. This _was_ more fun than in the library, he decided. There was no hard edge of a table digging into his shoulders, and no one bustling around the corner to shelve books and interrupt them. It was comfortable and easy.

It was so pleasant that he nearly whined in disappointment when Blaine pulled away slightly after a moment. He propped himself up on his forearms, his body an inch above Kurt's and his hands still cupping Kurt's cheeks as he gazed down at him. His face was calm and relaxed, even with want so plain in his hazel eyes and the troubling bruises marring his otherwise perfect features. Given the chance, Kurt would have liked to lie there and look up at him forever. Of course, there were other desires stirring in him, too. Strange, new yearnings he'd never felt before a week ago, before this guy had dropped into his life and taken it over with a few whispered propositions and stolen kisses.

"You know, I meant what I said earlier," Kurt told him, speaking quietly, as if he might scare off the peace that had fallen between them with too loud a noise.

"When you called me an asshole?" Blaine asked him, his eyes suddenly bright, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. Kurt blushed and twisted his fingers in the hem of Blaine's t-shirt, maybe just the teensiest bit embarrassed about calling Blaine a name earlier, even if it had been justified.

"No – well, _yes_," Kurt stammered, unable to remember where he'd been going with this conversation, because his hands were still nestled in the fabric of Blaine's shirt, and his knuckles had just accidentally brushed against bare skin and a soft line of hair just above the torn jeans. He dropped his hands back to the mattress, making his fingers grip the sheets instead of Blaine's clothes, so he could at least retain some semblance of control over his brain. "You _were_ kind of a jerk. But I...I meant what I said before that, too. In the car."

A small crease formed between Blaine's dark eyebrows. He clearly didn't remember what Kurt had told him, or had been too distracted by his hysteria to hear it in the first place, so Kurt took a deep, shuddering breath. He would tell him again.

"I want to...to learn things," he started, his voice trembling so badly it sounded like he was speaking during an earthquake. "All those things you told me you want. I...I want them, too."

He glanced up at Blaine as he spoke, both anxious and terrified to see his reaction. He wondered wildly what Blaine would do once he realized Kurt was essentially giving him the go-ahead to make every one of those murmured fantasies he'd breathed into his ear during English class a reality. Maybe he would tear at him right away, toss the patient self-restraint aside along with all of Kurt's clothes and make easy work of him then and there. Or maybe he would reject the idea all together. Maybe this really had been some sort of elaborate joke, and Blaine would laugh and tell him to get out and never come near him again.

But no. Blaine didn't laugh, and he didn't scrabble immediately for Kurt's buttons and zippers, either. Instead, he pulled a few more inches away and stared fixedly down at him, the playful light in his eyes replaced with a searching intensity that made Kurt's cheeks and stomach feel hot all over again. Blaine stayed still above him for a long time, just holding Kurt's face in his rough hands and looking at him for what felt like an eternity. Kurt was starting to think he was going to turn down what he'd essentially been begging for since the moment they first met when he finally spoke, his voice hushed and more gentle than Kurt had ever heard it.

"You're sure?" he asked, thumbs sweeping smoothly across pale cheekbones and hazel eyes never leaving blue ones once, as though he was trying to detect a worry or a lie in them.

Kurt could only nod, his throat suddenly tight as he registered the care and warmth in Blaine's gaze, and he thought he might actually melt into the mattress when Blaine kissed him again, his lips every bit as soft and gentle as his words.

The kiss changed slowly. It was a sweet_ okay_ first, an acceptance that things were about to change, to become more complicated and meaningful between them. It was an excited _yes_ a moment later as their tongues met, sliding together and conveying want in a way that words hadn't managed. And then, suddenly, it was an urgent _now_, the wait for more officially too long for both of them. Kurt really did whine this time when Blaine took his lips away and tipped off of him, settling on one elbow next to him on the bed and grinning again, eyes dark and hot and hungry.

"You know, I think you might be better at kissing than I am now, Hummel," he teased, fingers treading lightly over Kurt's hip.

"No way," Kurt disagreed, his voice coming out in a breathy rasp. "You – you're..." he trailed off, lips too tingly and chest too warm and head too fuzzy for him to care about finishing his thought, and Blaine laughed at his incoherence.

"You like what I do with my lips?" he asked, pitching his voice lower and leaning close. Kurt stared at his mouth, lips shining and swollen and lifted into a sly smile, and nodded helplessly. Blaine moved still nearer, brushing Kurt's ear as he whispered, "Wait 'til you see what I can do with my hands."

Kurt could hardly remember how to draw breath as he felt the words ghost over his neck. He lifted his own hand to cover Blaine's, stilling it where it was tracing leisurely over the soft, taut skin of his hip and twining their fingers together. He turned and gazed up into Blaine's face, his heart practically stopping like it did every time those eyes were looking back at him with as much want and wonder as he felt himself, and said, softly, "Show me."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I know this took a while, but here. It's finally done and it's all yours. And with this one, folks, we officially need that M rating.

I did a little bit of outlining for the whole story this week, and I think we're probably going to be looking at around 30 chapters by the time we reach the end. Who knows, though. The past three chapters were initially planned as one, so maybe we're all on an even longer ride than I thought. At any rate, enjoy, and pretty please let me know what you think! xo

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**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 7**

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"Tell me what you want, baby," Blaine said. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."

"I don't – um, I'm not sure," Kurt panted, his tongue having trouble with the abrupt switch from kissing passionately to forming words. This was so hard. He'd never done anything like this before. He had no idea what he wanted or what to ask for. "I want...more, but not, you know, _everything_. Not yet."

Blaine stared at him for a long moment, considering. "How about a drink?" he offered eventually, kissing him one more time before standing and crossing the room to the small fridge against the wall and opening it.

"Uh, yeah, okay," Kurt said, propping himself up on his elbows and lifting his knees up off the bed slightly to make the bulge in his jeans less conspicuous. It was a little odd, suggesting a drink in the middle of a heated make out session, but maybe a glass of water would help calm him down. He watched as Blaine stuck an arm into the fridge and searched for a moment. He heard the distinct, almost celebratory sound of glass clinking on glass, and a second later Blaine stood with a tall, clear bottle in his hand. Vodka.

Kurt gulped. "What's that for?"

"Your nerves," Blaine said simply, twisting the red lid from the top of the bottle and holding it out to him.

"Oh," Kurt said hesitantly. "I...I don't think I want any, thank you." The last time he had drank alcohol he'd ended up puking on Ms. Pillsbury's shoes, and he hardly thought throwing up was the thing to do while fooling around with Blaine. He didn't want to do anything stupid while he was here. Or anything more stupid than he was already planning. There was a bed and a cute boy and every opportunity to go too far too fast as it was without the further complication of clouded judgment to worry about. Plus, he had to drive himself home at some point.

Blaine looked amused. "Sure you do."

"Are you...are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Nope," Blaine grinned slyly. "I'm trying to get you naked."

"Hey," Kurt squeaked, panicking again. "I told you I didn't want to have sex. Not today, anyway."

Blaine only laughed at him. "Jesus, Hummel, I'm _kidding_. I'm not just going to throw you right in the deep end. There are a few steps between kissing and fucking, and they're _way_ too much fun to skip. If you want me to teach you something –"

"I do," Kurt said quickly. "I really do."

"Then drink this," Blaine said, the vodka still held out to him. "You're shaking."

Kurt suddenly noticed his knees knocking together slightly and his elbows trembling underneath him. He was definitely nervous, but he still didn't reach for the bottle. With a patient sigh, Blaine set it down on the nightstand as he sat back down on the bed, sweeping the pillow on one side out of his way and settling against the headboard. He reached out and grasped Kurt underneath his arms and tugged him backwards until he was settled in between Blaine's legs, his back right up against Blaine's warm, flat chest. Blaine tucked one arm around his waist and wrapped the other up around his shoulders, splaying his fingers over his chest and rubbing in slow, soothing circles. He buried his nose in Kurt's neck, kissing him softly and humming calming words into his skin.

"Relax," he said. "I'll take good care of you, baby."

The heel of Blaine's hand continued rubbing into Kurt's chest, and he used his other arm to reach once again for the bottle on the nightstand. Kurt watched as Blaine brought it to his lips and tipped it back, taking a long swallow from it and hissing as the liquor passed over the cut on his mouth. His hand stopped its soothing trek across his chest and reached for his jaw instead, gently tilting his head back while he held the bottle to Kurt's lips.

"Relax," Blaine repeated. "Relax and swallow."

Kurt did as he was told when Blaine tipped the clear liquid into his mouth. It was bitter, and it burned Kurt's throat on the way down. Blaine pulled the bottle away after he'd taken just one small sip, and he coughed a little at the unfamiliar heat in his throat. The warmth pooled at once in his stomach, but he wasn't really sure if that was from the drink or the way that Blaine was now trailing his other hand over his thigh. He leaned his head back on Blaine's shoulder, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. He felt more at ease already, breathing evenly and marveling at the sudden heaviness in his limbs as he draped his arms over Blaine's bent knees.

Blaine was kissing his throat now, and Kurt was so lost in the gentle warmth of his lips that he almost didn't notice when those callused fingers started undoing the buttons of his shirt. Three of them were already open by the time he realized what was happening, and he lifted a strangely weighted arm up to stop Blaine's hand.

"Wait," he breathed, and Blaine paused his assault on the shirt and stilled his lips against Kurt's neck. The nerves were coming back. He'd never taken his clothes off in front of anyone before. Not even in the locker room at school before gym class. He usually opted to change in the privacy of his own stall. There was nothing particularly wrong with his body, but he was shy, and had a list of insecurities that was probably pretty typical for a teenager. He'd imagined Blaine undressing him a thousand times since he'd met him, but now that it was actually happening he wasn't sure he was ready for it.

"Do you want me to stop?" Blaine asked calmly, his mouth brushing lightly over Kurt's jaw, his breath an odd, pleasing mix of nicotine and vodka.

"No. I just – I think I want another drink," Kurt said, and Blaine laughed quietly into his neck, tilting it back again and holding the bottle up for him. He poured another small stream into Kurt's mouth, and it burned just as much as the first one, but this time he liked the taste of it a bit better. It rushed through him, heating him up and making him bold, and a second later he turned his face toward Blaine's and pressed a happy, lazy, lingering kiss to his lips, smiling dreamily when he pulled away.

Blaine chuckled at him again. "Ready now?" he asked, meeting Kurt's eyes, and there was such genuine tenderness in his gaze that Kurt didn't even have to think before nodding. Blaine gave him a little squeeze, a sort of reassuring hug against his chest, and then undid the rest of Kurt's shirt buttons, helping Kurt sit forward and sliding the sleeves off his arms. He held a palm against Kurt's spine to keep him upright while he laid the shirt to the side, then his hands were at the hem of the plain white t-shirt Kurt wore underneath, pushing the fabric up his sides, rough hands trailing up every inch of skin that came into view. The air in the room was cool but Blaine's hands were warm, chasing the chill away almost as soon as Kurt felt it. He tried to remember to breathe, just breathe, as he lifted his arms overhead and felt the cotton tug up and over his head, rustling his hair a little on its way. The t-shirt joined his dress shirt on the bed, and then he was terrified. Terrified and half naked and desperate to know what Blaine was thinking but too scared to turn around and look at him. What if he was he too thin, or too pale, or too different from what Blaine had seen and touched and been with before?

"_Fuck_," Blaine whispered behind him, his hands trailing softly down over Kurt's back, and unless he was crazy, he felt them shaking against his skin. He could hear awe in Blaine's low, smooth voice, all traces of amusement gone as he said, "You're so perfect."

Kurt exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as Blaine pressed a line of kisses over his shoulders. He sat still, trying to do what Blaine had told him to and relax, but it was proving difficult; his heart was thumping loud and fast in his chest and his skin was burning each time he felt the sweet brush of those lips over him. Finally he couldn't take it even one more second, and he turned his face to look at Blaine over his shoulder, heat rising in his cheeks as he stared into his eyes and saw wonder in them.

Both of Blaine's arms wrapped around Kurt's bare shoulders, pulling him into his chest and holding him there, his chin hooked over Kurt's shoulder as he stared appreciatively down at his body. "Look at you," he breathed into Kurt's ear, rough fingers mapping over him, across his chest and along the sensitive stretch of skin over his sides. "Look at your _skin_." Kurt could feel another heartbeat drumming a quick rhythm against his spine, though he was sure his own was beating faster.

He shifted a little in Blaine's arms, fidgeting until he was facing him and reaching for the soft, worn cotton of Blaine's shirt. He pulled on it once before speaking in a timid whisper, "Can you – I mean, I'd like to see you, too."

He hadn't been expecting any hesitation, but Blaine let go of him and paused for a long moment, worrying his already swollen lower lip between his teeth as he thought it over. It was odd, considering his typically insane level of confidence and forwardness. "Okay," he finally agreed, reaching his arms behind him and pulling the fabric over his shoulders. "Don't be upset."

Kurt barely had time to wonder what Blaine was talking about. His shirt was off a moment later, and Kurt actually cried out when he saw his naked torso. Tears stung in his eyes almost instantly and a shaking hand flew up to cover his mouth in shock.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Blaine said in a rush, but no way was Kurt going to believe him. The whole right side of Blaine's abdomen was a deep, midnight shade of purple, and there was another dark bruise square in the middle of his chest. These looked much worse than the ones on his face, and Kurt didn't understand how Blaine had just gone about his day when he was hurt this badly. If Kurt hadn't felt so awful when he saw them, he might have been secretly glad the bruises were there, because otherwise Blaine was too perfect; all smooth, olive skin and lean muscle and scarce dark hair. Kurt couldn't believe someone so beautiful was looking back at him with the same fascination, or at least, he wouldn't have believed it if he had noticed. As it was, however, he was distracted by Blaine's battered body.

"Oh my_ God_," Kurt said, his voice barely audible and quavering violently. Blaine reached for him as though he wanted to hold him again, but Kurt twisted away. "No, no, _Jesus_, you're hurt. Why didn't you say something? I've been _leaning_ on you and...and _laying_ on you and probably practically _killing_ you and –"

His panicky outburst was brought to an abrupt end when Blaine leaned forward in a way that _had_ to be painful and sealed his lips over his mouth, silencing him and laughing warmly against Kurt's worried frown. "No, baby. I've hardly noticed it all day."

Kurt gave him a doubtful look, eying the deep bruises spread like an ugly topographical map on Blaine's skin and trying hard not to cry. They looked terrible, and he was at a loss as to what could possibly distract from injuries this severe. At least the space Blaine had left between their bodies while they kissed made sense now; it likely hurt too much to be too close.

It was probably the alcohol that made Kurt do it, made him turn completely on the bed so that they were facing each other, made him press his fingers gently into Blaine's shoulders and push him back against the headboard. And he definitely wouldn't have done what he did next – settling across Blaine's legs, one knee on either side of his hips – without the brave buzz rolling through him. Blaine seemed taken aback but intrigued by his sudden assertiveness, eyes both guarded and greedy, hands resting beside him on the bed, fingers just barely raising up to touch Kurt's knees.

Their eyes met and held onto each other, and Kurt felt even more emboldened by the fire in Blaine's gaze. The clear bottle was raised to his lips by his own hand this time, and he kept his eyes trained down at Blaine's face while he took one more pull of vodka, swallowing once, twice, three times before setting it back down with a dull _thunk_ on the nightstand and reaching for the handsome boy in front of him.

His hands were no longer shaking when he lifted them to Blaine's face, touching him as lightly as he could and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the bruise on his cheek. He pulled away a moment later to search Blaine's face, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the look of grateful amazement there. Feeling just a tiny bit unsteady on his knees, he tipped forward again and kissed an inch lower on Blaine's jaw. Blaine's eyes shuttered closed and a small, almost silent sigh slipped from his lips, and so Kurt kept going, aiming his own lips for the cut on Blaine's mouth and kissing the gash gently, deliberately.

"You can't kiss them better," Blaine murmured against his mouth, but his words came out a little strangled, his breathing shallow as Kurt pulled back and wiggled down his legs, his movements slightly less graceful than usual because of the vodka and well, the fact that he'd never been sprawled in someone's lap before.

"I can try," Kurt said quietly, fingers curled over Blaine's shoulders as he ducked his head to touch his lips to the dark purple mark on his chest. Blaine just stared at him in stunned appreciation as he kept moving down, sliding back a few more inches and holding Blaine's narrow hips for balance as he moved to the spread of black and blue on Blaine's ribcage.

These were the worst. Kurt felt an actual physical ache in his chest as he looked at them up close, like someone was wringing his heart between two cold hands, and he felt the hot pressure of tears behind his eyes again as he leaned over to kiss these, too. He tasted salt on his lips as he pressed them to Blaine's bruised skin, and soon the gentle parade of kisses was damp with his quiet tears. There was a shift underneath him as Blaine inhaled sharply, either due to pain as Kurt touched him with his lips or surprise as he noticed that Kurt was crying. Judging by the soft expression on his face when Kurt glanced up, it was the latter.

"You shouldn't be here with me," Blaine said, but he was contradicting his own words as he spoke them, reaching his arms out for Kurt again and pulling him nearer, eyes wide and shining as he looked up into his face and swept his thumbs across his cheeks, wiping away the tears. "You're so gorgeous – so _good_ – and I'm a fucking mess," Blaine gestured vaguely to his body, where the bruises stood out ugly and dark and wrong against the toned, tanned perfection of the rest of him. Something about his tone, though, laced with sadness and bitterness and maybe even regret, made Kurt wonder if he was talking about more than just his physical wounds. If maybe there was deeper, darker damage there, just under the surface; scars that Kurt couldn't reach with his lips.

"I want to be here," Kurt told him, alcohol and arousal and the nearness of Blaine making him warm all over, heat spreading in heavy limbs and gathering low in his belly when strong arms wrapped around his waist and tugged him even closer. And then those _eyes_ and those _hands_ and okay, yes, probably the vodka, too, drew a flirtatious smile across his lips, and he squeezed his knees against Blaine's hips and added, "With you."

"I could be bad for you," Blaine said, carding his fingers through Kurt's hair and warning him with his eyes, giving him one last chance to get up and walk away before things got messy; before Blaine could get his hands on him, sink his teeth into him, suck the breath from his lungs.

"Or I could be good for you," Kurt countered, but part of him knew that it wasn't likely, that Blaine was right, that staying here and giving in was a mistake. The rest of him didn't care.

The cocky smile was back in a flash. "You will be, baby," Blaine said, eyes bright and voice low and playful. His hands moved from Kurt's waist to grip his ass instead, and the fire was back in his eyes as they dropped first to his lips, and then over Kurt's bare torso. "You're going to be _so_ good for me. I'm gonna show you how."

For once Kurt didn't mind that Blaine had twisted his words into something more sexual than he'd intended. "When?" he asked, his voice hoarse with anticipation.

Blaine lifted Kurt from his lap, quickly and with ease, and laid him back down on the bed, stretching out beside him and running one rough hand over his stomach, the touch sweet but needy, wanting. His voice was all those things too, warm and kind and deep and desperate in Kurt's ear. "How does now sound?"

"Yes," Kurt breathed, and it took him a moment to realize the answer didn't quite fit the question. "I mean, good. Yes. Now sounds...good."

Blaine laughed gently at his babbling and shifted his body, nudging Kurt's legs apart with one knee as he lowered over him. Kurt moved his hands to Blaine's waist to stop him, concerned about his bruised ribs, and gasping at the solid feeling of that hot, tan skin under his fingertips before whispering in nervous hesitation. "Doesn't that – won't that hurt you?"

"Kurt," Blaine grinned down at him, curls hanging in his hungry hazel eyes. "Stop worrying. You kissed me better, remember?"

Kurt giggled, half because of Blaine's teasing and half because his callused fingers were ghosting down over his side, tickling him. "You said that wouldn't work," he reminded him playfully, reaching for the wayward twists of dark hair and brushing them away from Blaine's face.

"I was wrong," Blaine started, shivering slightly at the touch, his smile a little softer as he gazed into Kurt's eyes, "You have magic lips."

Kurt blushed, smiled, and glanced shyly up at Blaine's face. "So do you."

"Mhm," Blaine agreed in Kurt's ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth and nibbling lightly. "Baby, I haven't even shown you half my tricks." His body pressed into Kurt's, and there was a smile in that low, smooth voice as it whispered, "Open your mouth for me." Kurt parted his lips, and Blaine hummed in lustful approval before his tongue glided in, erasing all of Kurt's worries in an instant, drowning them in the wet slide and push of a dozen heated kisses. Blaine moved from Kurt's lips a moment later, tempted away by his exposed collarbone and bare chest, darting and stroking his tongue across the unexplored inches of him expertly. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine's shoulders, grateful that there were no bruises here and he could hold on to him as tightly as he needed to.

"Can you feel me?" Blaine mouthed over his throat, hips pressing down into Kurt's thigh, and yes, Kurt could feel him. Hard in his torn jeans, hands burning where they held him, breath hot against the skin of his neck, kisses wet and demanding. "Can you feel how much I want you?"

"Yes," Kurt gasped.

"You like it, don't you?" Blaine rolled his hips again, and Kurt could only nod mutely against Blaine's cheek. "I can tell, baby. Look at you. Look how bad you want me, too."

Kurt tore his eyes away from the beautiful boy working him over and looked down at his own body. A flush was creeping across his chest, the muscles under Blaine's hands twitching and flexing automatically, his dick straining in his pants, the hard outline of it more than obvious in his tight jeans.

"I want to touch you," Blaine said, fingers tracing along the waistband of Kurt's jeans, then itching and dragging to the top of his thigh, where the denim was just slightly faded from the bend at his hip. His hand paused briefly, waiting for some sign of assent before continuing, which Kurt was all too ready to give him, the alcohol and the heaviness of Blaine on top of him making him want things he'd only had in his recent dreams.

He nodded and urged Blaine on, his voice barely audible; a thin whisper of impatience and need. "I won't stop you this time."

"You can if you want to," Blaine said kindly, before the arrogance was there again, eyes blazing as his hand finally moved lower. "But you won't. My hands are magic, too, baby."

And then the weight of one of those magic hands was on Kurt's cock, pressing in and wrapping around the shape of it through his jeans, and...and, _wow_ it felt amazing. Better than before, even, because this time Kurt was expecting it, ready for it. A long, low hiss of air escaped his parted lips as the first new wave of heat rolled in the pit of his stomach. Blaine had stopped kissing him to watch his face, reading him, studying the effect of the slow drag of his palm over the crotch of Kurt's jeans. His lips twitched up into his trademark cocky smirk, apparently pleased to see that Kurt was slowly coming undone just at the touch of his hand.

"No one's ever put their hands on you like this before, have they, baby?" Blaine asked, even though he already knew the answer. Kurt wanted to speak but couldn't manage it, his mind stuck like a broken record, just repeating _yes yes yes yes yes_ over and over at the warm, welcome friction on his hard-on, but Blaine persisted. "Have they?"

"No," Kurt panted, holding on still tighter to Blaine's shoulders, in desperate need of an anchor to cling to in the new sea of pleasurable pressure he was sure he would soon drown in. "No. Just you."

Blaine leaned down to kiss him again, teasing into Kurt's mouth for just a few moments at a time, barely letting Kurt feel his tongue before moving over his throat instead. His hand kept massaging over his jeans, pushing and squeezing and twisting Kurt in his palm, and Kurt could feel Blaine smiling against his skin as he kissed it, listening to the chorus of gasps and moans he couldn't stop from escaping his throat at the friction.

"Good, baby," Blaine said, groaning around his words as he gave his hard-on another firm squeeze, fingers tracing the length of it through denim. "So _long_. I bet your dick is as pretty as you, isn't it?"

"I...I don't –" Kurt didn't really know how to answer that. He'd never exactly stopped and considered the aesthetic appeal of his own body, and even if he had, now was not the time for him to talk about it. He couldn't think, and he knew he couldn't blame the few sips of alcohol he'd had a few minutes ago. It was Blaine. The way he was touching him, kissing him, _talking_ to him.

"Let me see," Blaine said, his voice a little unsteady now, almost begging as his hand moved away from Kurt's cock and hovered near his zipper instead.

Kurt whimpered at the loss of the heavy strokes of Blaine's palm, whatever fear or shyness he would normally have felt at the prospect of Blaine seeing him naked drowned out entirely by vodka and the need to feel his hand on him again. He was suddenly aware of how uncomfortable his jeans felt, tight and straining over his erection, and he nodded frantically in answer to the questioning thumb teasing at the button of his jeans. Blaine undid it immediately, fingers dragging the zipper down and open and brushing over Kurt's cock a moment later. _Whoa._ This was even better, with only the thin, gray cotton of his boxer-briefs between his dick and Blaine's warm hand, the heat and pressure of his palm around him more intense without the denim in the way, and a high whimper Kurt barely recognized as his own voice left his mouth at the feeling.

He was shaking again, and he trained his eyes on Blaine's face, needing to focus on something to stop the coil of heat at the base of his spine from snapping and washing over him too soon. Blaine's eyes were dark and wide, staring at him intently as he stroked over the shape of him in his underwear. It was a heated, passionate gaze, and Kurt wasn't sure that meeting it was a good idea, not if he wanted this to last much longer. "Does it feel good?" Blaine asked, and the part of Kurt's mind that could still function thought that was a silly question. His breathing was ragged and his arms were trembling around Blaine's shoulders. _Of course_ it felt good.

"Yes," he answered, but there was still something desperate and longing twisting anxiously in his chest. "But you...if you want to..." he trailed off, his inexperience and shyness holding his request hostage in his throat.

Blaine seemed to sense what he wanted anyway. He slipped the tips of his fingers under the elastic of Kurt's underwear, raising his eyebrows at him as if to make sure he'd understood. Kurt's voice failed him again, but he nodded, silently saying _yes, please_ and thrilling when Blaine's hand tugged the fabric out of the way and gripped him, firm but gentle, in his rough hand.

He barely heard his own sigh of pleasure over Blaine's loud groan, his fingers stroking down over every inch of him and back up. "_Jesus_," Blaine breathed, staring down between them at Kurt's cock, flushed red and achingly hard in his hand. "I knew it. I knew you'd be perfect."

Kurt was still getting used to the sensation of Blaine's callused fingers wrapped around his length when suddenly it was gone, his briefs snapping against his belly again as Blaine shifted over him and pulled back a few inches to rake his eyes down over his body. He wondered wildly if something was wrong with him, if there was something unappealing about him that had made Blaine take his hand away so quickly. But no, that couldn't be right. Blaine had just said he was perfect.

"What –" he started to ask, but Blaine hushed him with his lips, kissing him deeply and then lifting away from him a moment later, grinning when Kurt's mouth chased after him and stopped short of his lips. He held his hand out over Kurt's face, smiling darkly.

"Lick," he commanded, his voice low and his eyes dark, greedy pools of lust.

Kurt blinked at him, looking between his eyes and the hand hovering near his jaw in confusion. "What?"

"Lick my hand."

"L-lick it?" Kurt asked, completely dumbfounded. "Why?"

"You're going to get my hand wet," Blaine explained, patient laughter in his voice and hunger in his hazel eyes, "and then I'm going to get you off."

"Oh," Kurt said, something hot and tight twisting at the base of his spine just at the idea. "Um..." he lifted up to Blaine's open palm, dragging a tentative stripe of his own saliva over it with the tip of his tongue, and then glancing back to Blaine. His eyes had gone wide again at the sight of Kurt's tongue, but he was still grinning gently.

"Again," he said.

Kurt leaned up again, flattening his tongue and licking a broader stroke over Blaine's hand, tasting something heady and saline. The taste of his own skin, he realized.

"One more, baby," Blaine murmured, and Kurt was once again aware of the hard shape of Blaine against his leg as he moved his tongue over Blaine's palm a third time. He drew back and watched as Blaine reached for his cock again, stomach tightening and breath hitching as his fingers wrapped around him, warm and wet and slick with his own spit.

"Oh...oh my _God_," Kurt breathed, watching Blaine's hand slide down his shaft and back up again, the dark, swollen head disappearing in his palm as he moved. It was almost _too_ incredible, and he dropped his head heavily back to the bed, his eyes falling shut at the intense, wet pleasure of it. He had done this on his own before, quickly and clumsily stroking over himself in his dark bedroom, feeling awkward and embarrassed and anxious to get the whole thing over with. But this – _this_ – this was different. It was strange and new and wonderful to be on only one side of the sensation, someone else's warm hand pumping him, building the tension in his stomach in a slow-burn that made his whole body crave more.

"Open your eyes, baby. Watch. Watch what I can do to you."

Kurt forced his eyes back open and stared back down at Blaine's hand, sliding and dragging over his cock slowly and with confidence, sure of each and every motion. The twist of heat in his spine wrung tighter at the sight, and he bit his bottom lip hard to stop himself from moaning out loud. Blaine moved his free hand to cradle Kurt's jaw, ducking down to kiss him as his hand kept working, soothing his tongue over the stinging red marks left by his teeth and swallowing his high, desperate noises of pleasure before echoing them back into Kurt's mouth, deep and rough and wanton.

"Fuck," Blaine panted into his lips a second later, both of them breathing heavily and gasping loudly for air between long, deep kisses. "You fit so nice in my hand, baby. "

"I – yeah," Kurt agreed, brain too muddled to say much more. He only knew that this was the best he'd ever felt in his whole life; a physical, animal joy he'd never experienced before, and he never, ever wanted it to stop.

"Is my hand as good as yours?" Blaine asked. "Does it feel better than touching yourself?"

Kurt would have laughed if he could have managed any sound beyond a high, hopeless whimper. There was no comparison. "_Much_ better," he choked out eventually, clutching Blaine's shoulders and lifting up from the bed, trying to get closer, more.

"Tell me what you think about, baby. Do you think about me?"

"Yes. Y-yes," he supposed there was no point in denying it. His body was tangled with Blaine's, half-naked and keening under his palms. He might as well admit he had wanted it this way, thought about it everyday since Blaine had first backed him up against a wall in the locker room.

"Do you think about my hands on you? Touching you like this?"

"Mmm," Kurt moaned, the words getting caught in his throat, drowned out by the pleasure coursing through his veins and thrumming loud in his ears. Blaine seemed to understand, anyway.

"What else?"

"I think about...I think about touching you, too."

Blaine groaned. "You can."

"I...now?" Kurt asked, his voice pitched high with nerves and excitement.

"If you want to."

"Yes." Kurt said, so breathless that the word barely made it out. He cleared his throat. "Yes, I want to." He turned slightly on the bed, facing Blaine and unwrapping one arm from his shoulders, stretching it down between them and running it tentatively over the front of Blaine's jeans. Blaine leaned into the touch, pushing into Kurt's palm, and his fingers flexed to grip him automatically.

_Oh._ Wow. Kurt froze, the intense wet glide of Blaine's hand over him suddenly pushed to the background of his mind, muted and forgotten with the brand new experience of holding a dick in his hand that wasn't his own. Sure, Blaine was clothed, the denim dulling the heat in his palm, but _still_. It was hard and solid in his jeans, and it felt so _thick_. Blaine groaned impatiently and pushed into his hand again, and Kurt could feel his cock pulsing even through the fabric. He wanted to move his fingers, to explore and feel Blaine in his hand, but he didn't exactly know how, and he was terrified of doing something wrong.

"That's good," Blaine rasped, his own fist stilling in Kurt's pants. "Now move your hand a bit."

"I don't...I'm not sure what to –"

"Here. Like this," Blaine let go of him entirely and pressed his hand over Kurt's on his crotch, dragging them down his length together and then leading them back up, pushing down firmly and sighing quietly at the pressure. Blaine's cock twitched against Kurt's hand and he sucked in a loud breath, blood rising to color his cheeks and rushing in another wave of tight heat to his groin. Blaine kept moving their hands together over his jeans, helping Kurt through another few strokes before taking his hand away and letting Kurt keep going on his own. He licked his own palm, wetting it again before reaching down to pick up where he left off with Kurt, and Kurt had to concentrate really hard to keep the pace Blaine had set once the hot grip was squeezing around his dick again. He must have been doing a pretty good job because Blaine moaned in his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth and panting loudly. "Perfect. That's – _ah _– that's perfect, baby."

Kurt moved his hand over him, getting braver and more curious with every stroke, spreading his fingers to feel as much of Blaine as he could, sliding his hand a little lower, pressing into the denim a little harder. His focus was wrecked, though, when Blaine started to move his hand on Kurt's cock with more purpose, his grip tighter and his thumb dragging a wet circle around the head with every upstroke. He was breathing heavily in Kurt's ear, tongue darting out to taste his jaw and then flicking behind his ear, teasing him with hot, whispered words over the wet skin.

"You know what I think about when I do this?" he murmured. "I think about you. Shy and blushing and desperate for me. Exactly how you are right now." Kurt whined against Blaine's chest, the pressure in the pit of his stomach building, the heat starting to boil over in his blood.

"Keep – keep talking," Kurt pleaded, arching off the mattress and thrusting reflexively into Blaine's fist, chasing the release he could feel getting close, so close now.

Blaine eyes clouded even darker, and a growl rumbled low in his chest. "_Fuck_, you know what you like already, don't you?" His hand moved faster over Kurt's dick as he gave Kurt what he wanted; more words, like the ones Blaine had been breathing in his ear since the day they met, but so much better – so much _hotter_ – now that they were coming true. "I think about you on your back, begging for it. I work you over until you come hard and hot and fast for me, and just when I think you've had enough you turn over, put your ass in my hands, and ask for seconds."

With one more turn of Blaine's wrist, the wave of tension finally crashed hard over him, rushing hot up his spine and through his limbs, his vision flaring white and his body pushing desperately into Blaine's, the heat between their bare skin somehow unbearable and not enough at the same time. His muscles tensed, and he cried out as Blaine kept pumping him through his high, the slide of his hand fast and wet as he came in hot streaks over Blaine's fist. He gasped brokenly into the strong shoulders holding him up as the rush finally ebbed away. He was shaking and sated, and he hissed as Blaine's hand released his cock, spent and weak and oversensitive.

"That was perfect," Blaine murmured, his voice sending more shocks through Kurt's body. He kissed Kurt's jaw, his chin, and then his parted, gasping lips, slowly. "_You_ were perfect. You're so pretty when you come, baby."

Kurt hummed, trembling and soaking up the little kisses happily for a moment before turning back to Blaine and asking, "Shouldn't we keep going? I mean, you didn't –" He was starting to come down now, his breaths evening out and his head clearing enough to realize that Blaine hadn't come yet, and he was still hard in his jeans when Kurt pressed his hand back between them and squeezed.

Blaine groaned slightly at the touch, but nudged his arm away, lips pulling up in a warm, wry smile. "One thing at a time. I'll teach you how to take care of me another day."

Kurt bit his lip and nodded shyly, already nervous and eager for the next time even though this one was barely over. He shifted a little in Blaine's arms and suddenly noticed the way the air felt cool on his belly, still streaked white and wet from his orgasm. He shivered and blushed.

"Now _I'm_ a fucking mess," he giggled, gesturing to his painted torso and repeating Blaine's earlier words, laughing at the absurdity of it all. A few hours ago the most scandalous thing he'd ever done was flip through a couple of muscle magazines, and now he was in a hotel room, sprawled out in a near-stranger's bed and sticky with his own come. He thought maybe he should feel a little ashamed of himself, but he couldn't. It had been too much fun.

Blaine grinned. "A beautiful mess," he corrected, pressing a kiss to the corner of Kurt's smiling lips and reaching over his body for his discarded t-shirt. Kurt thought he was going to slip it back on, but instead he dropped it over Kurt's striped torso and casually started cleaning him up.

"No, your shirt –," Kurt protested, but Blaine ignored him, swiping the cotton over Kurt's stomach until it was dry.

"No worries, baby," Blaine said, wiping his own hand next and then tossing the used tee into the corner with a couple pairs of rumpled jeans. "Laundry room is right down the hall." He stretched leisurely alongside Kurt, resting his head in his hand and propping himself up on his good side, gazing down at Kurt's face and tracing its planes with rough, careful fingers.

Kurt eyes drifted to Blaine's bruises again, and concern and curiosity edged their way into his hazy, happy thoughts. He lifted his fingers to touch them again, lightly. "I wish you would tell me what happened."

Blaine sighed in irritation and gently pushed Kurt's outstretched hand away. "Not today," he said shortly, and Kurt decided to drop it, hardly wanting his first sexual encounter to end in some sort of argument.

He tried a different topic. "You know, at some point during all of these study sessions we should really get some actual studying done, or you'll start to think I'm taking advantage of you."

Blaine narrowed his eyes and gave him a questioning, lopsided smile. "_You_ taking advantage of _me_?"

"Uh huh," Kurt said coyly, walking his fingers up one of Blaine's strong arms. "We were supposed to be trading homework help for sex lessons, but so far I'm the only one who's learned anything."

The famed smug smile was back on Blaine's face as he curled an arm around Kurt's waist and tugged him closer, pulling their bodies together, only wincing slightly when Kurt leaned in and accidentally bumped his bruises. "I just studied your dick for twenty minutes, Hummel. Surely that counts for something."

Kurt snorted, and was surprised when he didn't even feel the familiar flush rising in his cheeks. He guessed his body was too busy recovering from those twenty minutes to be embarrassed by them. "No, it doesn't. You have to learn stuff for your finals. Math, science, history. And poetry."

"Poetry. Right," Blaine agreed, rolling a little so that he was situated above Kurt again, and holding his hand up in the air, fingers splayed open. "Listen. Here's a haiku."

He cleared his throat playfully and Kurt raised his eyebrows at him, pursing his lips to hide a wide grin. Blaine flicked each finger forward as he spoke, counting off syllables.

"Your cock is per-fect  
It's long and spec-tac-u-lar  
I like touch-ing it."

Kurt burst out laughing, and Blaine grinned down at him, dropping his counting hand to Kurt's face and holding it while he watched him gasp for air between giggles. "That's the worst poem I've ever heard," Kurt finally managed, once he had control of himself, and Blaine just shrugged, still smiling.

"I'll write you a better one later," he said lightly, tracing over Kurt's cheekbone with the pad of his thumb and leaning so close they were sharing their breaths. "But right now I think you should kiss me."

Kurt fought the urge to comply immediately, instead tugging his lips together in a line, moistening them with his tongue and trying out his own smug smile when Blaine's eyes were drawn to them hungrily. "Kissing won't help you pass your classes," he teased.

"Might," Blaine argued, only a whisper away now. "Magic lips, remember?" And then they were mouth to mouth again, and Kurt let himself fall back into the happy daze he had just come out of, reveling in the press of their still bare chests flush and warm against each other, Blaine's hand gently tilting his face to meet his as his tongue stroked and swirled over Kurt's languidly.

He pulled away a moment later, grinning, and Kurt stared up at him, trying to think of something funny or sweet to say. He thought about how quickly things were changing, how fast his life had gone from average and somewhat boring to new and sexy and exhilarating, and what ended up coming out was, "I've only known you for ten days."

Blaine smirked at him. "You should be proud of yourself, baby. Ten days is way longer than anyone else managed to resist me."

Kurt's stomach lurched, the pleasant, blissful fog in his brain instantly evaporated. Of course he knew Blaine had done this before. All of it. More, even. That much was obvious just by the way he talked. But he didn't want to hear about it. Didn't want to be reminded that while this was all very new to him, it was all very old news to Blaine. He swallowed and huffed out an irritated breath, shoving Blaine off of him and sitting up on the mattress.

"Baby," Blaine chided, sighing in irritation as Kurt moved away from him. Blaine sat up too, scooting over and wrapping him up, his arms grasping him around the waist and pulling a little until his back was flush against Blaine's chest, and Kurt tensed, feeling the steady, rhythmic heartbeat thudding gently against his spine again. Blaine nuzzled into the short hairs on the back of his neck and murmured low and soft into his skin. "Come on, don't get so touchy. It's just sex. No big deal."

His touch and his voice were comforting, but his words were not. Kurt turned in his arms, enjoying the way it felt to be held in them despite his bad temper. "It's a big deal to me," he said, and he was embarrassed by the hurt in his voice, plainly audible even to his own ears. "Maybe it was stupid, or naive, but I always thought that when I did...all this...for the first time, it would be with someone who was as new to it as I was. And you're...definitely not."

He shuddered at the sudden chill in the room as Blaine let him go and leaned back on one palm, running his other hand through his messy curls and sounding sad and far away when he spoke. "It's not too late. You can wait to do the rest. With someone else."

"No," Kurt said, so quickly he surprised even himself. He reached for one of the belt loops on Blaine's jeans, giving it an impatient little tug until he moved closer, putting his arms around Kurt's waist again and resting his chin on his shoulder. Kurt dropped his voice to a whisper as he went on. "I want it to be you. I've been dreaming about it," he blushed crimson at the admission, and Blaine kissed his neck just once, sweetly. "But don't tell me anything about the other times you've done this. I'm nervous enough without wondering if you're comparing me to every other guy you've ever slept with. Ignorance is bliss, you know?"

Blaine took a deep breath as he searched Kurt's face. Kurt tried to rearrange his features to appear neutral, as though he wasn't _too_ upset, even though the thought of Blaine putting his lips against another guy's skin made him feel sick.

"Fuck. I have to tell you something." Blaine said, letting go of him again and rubbing at the back of his own neck. His voice was missing its usual ease. That detached, apathetic quality it adopted to show that he didn't give a fuck about anything or anybody. He looked nervous, and he reached for the bottle of vodka on the bedside table and took a deep drink from it before continuing.

"About the other guys –," he said, and Kurt furrowed his brow.

"I said I didn't want to know –," he started to protest, but Blaine interrupted him.

"Listen," he insisted, his voice slightly impatient and, if Kurt wasn't mistaken, shaking a little. "I _am_ new to this. Not the physical stuff. I've done all of that before, and you know that. But," he swallowed loudly and met Kurt's gaze, his hazel eyes soft and honest and vulnerable. "Fuck, I can't stop thinking about you. And I know you don't want to hear this, but I've fucked a lot of guys – a _lot_ of guys – and none of them made me half as crazy as you. You're beautiful and smart and funny and really, _really_ nice to me, and you make me forget about everyone else in the world."

Blaine was breathing heavily, as if it'd been hard work to get that out, and he looked frantically between Kurt's eyes, trying to read how Kurt felt about his confession. But Kurt knew there was nothing for him to find there except shock. He literally couldn't think. There was only static between his ears and his mouth was hanging open and his heart was hammering so hard in his chest he thought it might bruise as badly as Blaine's ribs.

"So," he managed after several long moments of stunned silence. "What...what are you telling me?"

"I like you," Blaine said, and a sort of panicky laugh escaped his mouth as he said it, like he was equal parts relieved and terrified to be saying all of this out loud. "And it's scary as shit, okay? So don't be nervous. Or I guess, if you are, just know that I am, too."

"Blaine," Kurt heard himself whisper breathlessly, and he realized that this was the first time he'd ever said the name out loud. He'd thought it and dreamed of it and even written it a few times underneath drawings of that perfect face in his sketchbook. But this was the first time it had crossed his lips, and a crazy realization hit him hard and at once. That name belonged there.

Blaine looked at him, and something intense flashed in his eyes as he heard his name, like maybe he knew it was different, special when Kurt said it. His gaze was warm and affectionate but also a little unsure, as though he couldn't quite believe things were going to be just fine after he'd admitted to feeling something more than all-consuming lust for Kurt. "Yeah?" he asked quietly, leaning close to Kurt and bumping their noses together gently.

"I like you, too."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** So. The responses to that last chapter, you all. Wow. Every single word of encouragement meant so much. It was my first time writing and publishing smut, so I was totally hiding behind my fingers when I put that chapter up, and then you all blew me away with the kind words. As a thank you, there's even more sex in this one, so yay for that!

And also, **spoiler alert**, but please disregard one rather unrealistic point in this chapter. A piercing would not heal this quickly, and you certainly wouldn't be able to do what Blaine does with it one day later, but ah, fuck it. I thought it was hot. Read on, lovelies, and feel free to share your thoughts. Only nice ones, though, because today's my birthday. For real. xo

* * *

**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 8**

* * *

The sound of the door closing behind Kurt as he left later that evening may well have been the sound of loneliness itself. Blaine slid the locks into place and leaned his forehead against the door, breathing deeply, inhaling the last lingering traces of the boy he liked and wishing he hadn't had to go. They'd spent another hour – no, an hour and a half, he realized – kissing lazily and making up bad poems, laughing until Blaine had to clutch a stitch in his bruised side. But it was over all too soon, because like most kids, Kurt had a family and a home and people who would miss him if he stayed away too long.

Blaine had this empty room.

He eventually found it in him to walk away from the door, turning around and dragging his feet back to his real life, the one that didn't include anyone at all, let alone the single most beautiful person in all of Ohio. He wanted to flop on the bed and fall asleep, forget about the fact that the only thing to keep him company until school the next day was the noise of the air conditioner kicking on and off in the corner, but he didn't. The bed seemed sort of lonely, too, now that he knew what it was like to have Kurt in it with him.

Instead he settled in his chair at the desk, lighting a cigarette – one of only two left in the pack; he'd have to go out later and buy more – and sucking in the nicotine, praying that this fix would chase the hollow ache from his chest. He kicked his feet up on the desk, mercifully clear of the mountain of homework since Kurt had insisted on taking it with him so he could draw them up a study schedule. There were four weeks remaining in the school year, and Blaine still had at least a semester's worth of catching up to do. He had groaned and rolled his eyes and pretended the whole thing was a waste of his time as Kurt tried in vain to organize his assignments into neat little piles, but underneath the charade he was nervous himself. Suddenly it felt awfully important that he pass his classes. If he didn't, he'd have to leave Lima, and that was the last thing he wanted to do now. Because in Lima he had Kurt.

Well, sort of. They liked each other, at least, and Blaine was fine with leaving it at that. In fact, that was how it should be. How it _had_ to be. His one attempt at an actual date – Christ, that was two years ago already – had been the start, the first swing of the wrecking ball that had torn his whole life to the fucking ground. He didn't think he had it in him to try again, to put his heart back in the line of fire, which was why quick, casual sex had been the only thing he'd shared with any guy ever since. Besides, if things didn't go well with school in the coming month, this fling with Kurt would be over anyway. Blaine would leave and Kurt would stay and they'd likely never find themselves in the same place again, so what was the point in calling it anything other than what it was: a fun way to pass the time.

And fuck, was it fun. They'd barely gotten started on each other that afternoon, but still it was even better than he'd imagined. Kurt was fantastically gorgeous, his whole body pale and smooth and perfect against Blaine's, pliant and willing and just so _right_ in his hands. Blaine had been utterly hypnotized by the breathy gasps and cries that came from Kurt's lips, by the pale blue of his eyes growing darker, deeper as Blaine whispered to him, by the desperate way he clung to his shoulders. It was incredible, watching Kurt lose himself so completely to his touch, and for the first time Blaine could remember he'd completely forgotten about his own needs. He had been focused on letting Kurt enjoy it as much as possible, and when Kurt fell over the edge in his arms he was so thrilled by the unrestrained joy of it that his own release seemed like some sort of trivial afterthought, and he'd waved it off entirely in favor of basking in Kurt's contented glow.

The two of them had talked, too. Soft, murmured confessions about their goddamn _feelings_, of all things. That hadn't exactly been part of the plan, but Blaine's heart had leaped into his throat and gotten stuck there when he'd inadvertently wounded Kurt with a careless mention of his sexual history. Stupid. Thoughtless. Even if part of him thought Kurt was cute when he was jealous, still more of him was furious with himself for causing him to turn away looking so stricken and upset, and the acknowledgment of deeper, truer feelings than mere lust had spilled out before he could do a thing to stop it.

Oh, but it had been worth it just to hear Kurt say his name a moment later. He'd imagined it falling from Kurt's lips countless times – usually accompanied by images of his body naked and torn apart by Blaine's tongue and fingers – but the reality of the moment had surpassed even his most vivid fantasies. The single whispered syllable had sounded brand new to him when spoken by that high, lovely chime of a voice, like suddenly it was more his own than it had ever been in all his seventeen years. And fuck, if he couldn't listen to the sound of it tripping past Kurt's pink, perfect lips at least a thousand more times, then he wasn't sure he wanted a name at all.

He didn't know when he had stood from the desk, but suddenly Blaine found himself pacing around his small room, his cigarette forgotten and burned down to the tips of his fingers once again. He quickly stubbed it out in the ashtray on his windowsill and then sank back down on the mattress, pressing the heel of his hand into his jeans, finally giving his hard-on, revived and aching at the mere memory of Kurt whispering his name into this room, the attention it'd been denied all afternoon. He popped the button on his jeans open and pulled his cock free, grasping it firmly in his hand and giving it a few dry strokes, imagining it was Kurt's soft, smooth hand gripping him instead of his own rough, callused one. He licked his hand, prepping it for himself this time. He tasted Kurt's skin and sweat and come on his palm, and groaned quietly as he touched himself again, closing his eyes and thinking about everything he wanted to do with Kurt in this room, in this bed. He wanted to bring him here every single day, lay him out and lay him bare and then lay into him with everything he had. He wanted to strip Kurt of his clothes and his inhibitions and every last shred of virtue he possessed, bending him and moving him and fucking him like he'd never bent or moved or fucked anyone before. He wanted to make him writhe underneath him. Make him beg. Make him plead.

Make him happy.

He wanted to fall in love with him.

Blaine gasped, both from shock at the unexpected thought and at the expert, practiced grip of his own hand. His pace only faltered for a moment, and then he kept sliding his hand up and down his length, feeling his body edge closer to coming undone as his heart unraveled in his chest. He remembered the feel of Kurt's slender fingers buried in his hair, holding him still as he pressed his lips gently and earnestly to his beaten face, and the tears sliding down his flushed cheeks and onto Blaine's bruised ribs as he kissed them. It had been so sincere. So intimate. He had felt close to someone and cared for and important for the first time in ages, and it was this fact that sent him over, had him choking out a loud, desperate moan as he came, his eyes screwed shut and his body jerking violently as he was wrung dry by his own fist.

He sat still on the edge of the bed as he came down, his grip loose on his dick, his heart racing as he sucked in huge, uneven breaths. It took him several dazed minutes to realize he was crying, his body shaking from more than relief and release, his chest tight as he sobbed, lungs filling and collapsing painfully as his bruised torso heaved with deep, devastating sadness and longing.

The cold shower helped to clear his head, or at least helped him stop crying. His sobs slowly subsided under the icy stream of water, his pulse returning to normal and his breaths coming easier as his body cooled down. He braced himself against the shower wall, rolling his head under the water, letting the shower wash the tears from his face and the sweat from his body and the new, sweet scent of Kurt's skin from his memory. _Shit_. He was falling fast and hard into an impossible dream, and if he didn't find his footing in reality soon, the walls he'd worked so hard to build since that pivotal night two years ago were going to crumble into dust around him, and there'd be nothing to stop the emptiness from yawning wide and swallowing him whole once he was alone again.

He haphazardly toweled off in the tiny bathroom, not even completely dry when he tugged on clean pairs of briefs and jeans and blinking hard to stop himself imagining that the drops of water trailing down his back were Kurt's gentle fingertips. He pulled on a clean t-shirt to still them in their tracks, but the cotton slipping down over his chest and abdomen only reminded him of the soft, dry brush of Kurt's lips. Fuck. What was it going to take to get this boy out of his head?

He tried making the bed first, hiding the sheets they'd fooled around on from view, and rearranging the pillows to erase the gentle indentation where Kurt had rested his head afterward. He carted his laundry down the hall, too, tossing a couple pairs of worn jeans and a few t-shirts – the one he'd used to dry Kurt's painted stomach included – into the machine along with a handful of quarters, watching as it spun away the evidence that he'd had someone worth more than a quick fuck and an easy release wrapped up with him just a couple of hours earlier.

But all of this only took twenty minutes, and then he was back in his empty room, and Kurt was still on his mind.

He sat down at his desk again, thumbing through the only homework Kurt had left behind – _something for you to work on tonight_, he had said – the well-worn copy of _The Outsiders_ and its corresponding study guide. He tried to distract himself with the novel, tried not to think about how fucking _happy_ he'd been that afternoon, with Kurt warm and smiling in his arms, but it was impossible. All the words kept rearranging themselves into Kurt's name; into the shy, sweet things he'd whispered in his ear.

_I want to be here with you. _

_I could be good for you. _

_I like you, too._

After another hour of holding the book open in his hands without even turning one page, he gave up, tossing it back onto his desk and tipping his last cigarette from the pack as he stood. He threw on his leather jacket, lighting up and pocketing his room key as he walked out the door. He needed to get out. Needed to feel something other than the swell and ache in his chest that he didn't recognize. It was a ghost, a phantom of a feeling that hadn't haunted him in a very long time, and it wasn't welcome.

It was hope.

* * *

Kurt sat at his usual spot in the courtyard before school started on Tuesday morning, waiting for Mercedes – he needed to ask her what he'd missed in Civics yesterday, since he'd skipped it in favor of making out with Blaine – and looking over the study schedule he'd written out after he got home the night before. It had taken him almost the entire evening to do. He had several different folders full of classwork, all color coded and sorted so that it followed along with the chapters of Blaine's textbooks. Blaine had so much work left, five months of missed assignments in five classes, and even though Kurt had done his best to divide it up into manageable segments, it was still a bit overwhelming. Especially when he considered the fact that the two of them would inevitably spend a fair amount of their time with their eyes (and hands and mouths) on each other rather than their textbooks.

Yesterday had been...god, he wasn't sure there were words for yesterday. Kurt had left Blaine's room in a state of euphoria, wearing the biggest smile that had ever graced his face after two hours of kissing and laughing (and okay, a little more, too) with the most handsome boy he knew. Despite the tumble his stomach had taken when he'd been reminded of Blaine's many conquests, he'd still gone to sleep that night feeling exhilarated and special. Because Blaine liked him.

And Kurt liked Blaine. Really, _really_ liked him. A lot. He liked the way he smiled and the way he laughed. The way he walked, talked, and whispered. The way he looked at him. The way he touched him. The way he kissed him like there was literally nothing on earth he would rather do.

Kurt was sure he looked strange, sitting alone in the courtyard and smiling stupidly at a pile of homework, his head resting dreamily in one palm, but he couldn't help it. Even if he should feel worried about getting all of this stuff done in the next month, or stressed about Nationals, or maybe a little apprehensive about getting involved with someone he hadn't even known two weeks, he didn't. When he thought about Blaine he couldn't feel anything but giddy.

He jumped slightly in his seat when someone sat down across from him a moment later, startling him and shaking him from his daydreams. He looked up, expecting Mercedes, but instead he saw that familiar dark grin and hazel eyes, and suddenly he could feel his heart stuttering in his chest and his blood running hotter in his veins.

Blaine.

This was unusual. Blaine didn't typically seek him out in the middle of McKinley's crowded common area, and it took Kurt a second to realize he was staring across the table without speaking, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stared into Blaine's face, hypnotized. He shook himself a little, breathing out a laugh and blushing as he finally managed to offer up a greeting. "Um...hi."

"Hey, baby," Blaine said, and Kurt noticed that he looked a little uncomfortable, sitting up straight and stiff on the other side of the table, his eyes flicking back and forth between Kurt's uncertainly. "It's...it's okay that I sit here, right?"

"Of course," Kurt blurted out, and then cleared his throat anxiously, the flush deepening in his cheeks. He heard his voice come out softer, less nervous a moment later. "Of course it is."

"Good," Blaine sat forward, folding his arms on the tabletop and visibly relaxing. He jerked his head toward the concrete pillar that he often stood and smoked at, "I thought I was gonna go crazy just standing over there staring at you." Kurt smiled, fighting not to stare at Blaine's hands as they rested on the table in front of him. When he looked at those hands he saw what they had done to him the day before; the way they'd taken him apart on Blaine's bed and then slowly, sweetly put him back together again with soft sweeps over his cheekbones and gentle strokes through his tousled hair. He focused instead on the rest of Blaine, on his shoulders loosening and his eyes burning brighter and his grin broadening across his face.

His face. Kurt tilted his head and studied it. The bruises had faded significantly, more yellow than purple now and much less jarring than they had been yesterday. It was such an improvement that Kurt wondered if all the kisses he'd planted there really had managed to do some good. "You look better," he told Blaine, reaching up and brushing his cheek gently with his fingertips; just one quick, impulsive touch before he drew his hand away again, conscious of the fact that such a thing wouldn't go unnoticed by the sea of gossip-hungry high schoolers that surrounded them.

Blaine smiled slyly at him and sought Kurt's leg under the table, rubbing along his calf with the toe of a black converse shoe. "And you look delicious," he murmured playfully, before leaning farther across the table and letting his gaze drift down to Kurt's lips. "Fuck, I want to kiss you so bad right now."

Kurt's whole body felt hot when he heard the lust in Blaine's voice, but a glance around the courtyard confirmed what he already knew. There were too many people here for that. But man, he wanted to. Wanted to let Blaine wrap his arms around him and press into his lips and remind him of yesterday. He looked back at Blaine, and they each spent a few too many minutes staring at the other's mouth. Kurt was about to suggest stealing a few minutes alone in the bathroom again when the warning bell rang, and the courtyard was suddenly a circus of students scrambling to their classrooms.

He blew out a disappointed huff of air and smiled crookedly at Blaine. "I guess I'll see you in English?"

Blaine stood from the table and grinned, arrogant and gorgeous as usual when he shrugged his school bag onto his shoulders and gave him that familiar, mischievous wink. "I showed you a pretty great time yesterday, Hummel. The least you could do is walk a guy to class."

Kurt laughed. He felt his face growing red at the veiled mention of what they'd done in Blaine's room the day before, but stood up and gathered his own things with a smile on his face. "Fair enough," he said, as they headed for the stairs that led to Blaine's first period class.

"You – it _was_ pretty great, right?" Blaine said, half a step behind him once they reached the building. "Yesterday? You had fun, didn't you?"

Kurt glanced at him over his shoulder as they walked, and caught just the slightest hint of uncertainty in Blaine's eyes. This was weird. Why was Blaine acting so nervous around him all of a sudden? Surely he couldn't be feeling as shy as Kurt did. After all, he had done all of this sex stuff before. Shouldn't he be more confident? Comfortable?

"Yeah, I – it was – come on, you were there," Kurt hinted, trying not to be too obvious or talk too loudly, in case anyone he knew happened to pass within earshot. "Couldn't you tell I was enjoying myself?" He had thought all the shaking and panting would have made it obvious. Apparently not.

"No, yeah, of course," Blaine said, shrugging and scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. "I know you liked it _during_. I was wondering about _after_. Wanted to make sure you didn't regret it or anything. Change your mind."

Kurt stared at him. If Blaine's concern hadn't been so perplexing it might have been sweet. "God, no. Not at all. I...I don't think I stopped smiling all night."

With just one flash of the arrogant grin, Blaine was himself again. Or at least the version of himself Kurt knew best. He sneaked a hand into Kurt's back pocket and squeezed his ass just once, smirking and darting his arm out of reach when Kurt went to smack at it. "So can we have more fun tonight? I want to show you something new."

"I don't know," Kurt said, even though he'd been thinking about little else since Blaine's door closed behind him the day before when he went home. "We have work to do. Did you read any more of _The Outsiders_ after I left last night?"

"A few chapters," Blaine answered him with a smirk and a shrug. "But I had a couple places to go. Got busy."

Kurt nodded, thinking that he'd have to add the book to the schedule he'd drawn up if Blaine hadn't finished it yesterday. That shouldn't be too big of a deal. It was a fairly short read and wouldn't take too much time to...He remembered something. "Oh," he said suddenly, stopping where he stood in the math hallway and digging in his bag. "I almost forgot. I've got something for you."

"The study schedule?" Blaine asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking at Kurt's bag curiously, watching as he shuffled and searched through his things.

"No," Kurt said. "Well, yes. I finished that, too. I'll show it to you after school. But also," he finally found what he was looking for, and he held it out to Blaine with a little flourish, "This."

It was a small, leather-bound book. Scrawling letters spelled the title on its black cover._ Poetry as Insurgent Art_. Kurt watched as Blaine hesitantly reached out to take it from him, staring down at it and pulling the cover open with callused fingers to look inside. "What's this?"

Kurt lifted his shoulders, feeling shy and somewhat silly; the gift was small and unnecessary, but he'd seen it at the bookstore when he went to pick up the commemorative guide to the Royal Wedding, and he'd thought it might be helpful. "Just a book. I know poetry isn't your favorite thing, but it's kind of cool. All the different ways poetry can inspire and move and express; what it means and represents to different people. Thought it might help, you know, when you're feeling like it's a waste of time."

He watched as Blaine continued to stare down at the pages, his dark eyes flicking over the single stanzas of words quickly. He stood silently reading the book for several long minutes, until the crowded hallway was almost empty and Kurt was starting to worry about being late to class again. This was probably stupid. Blaine really didn't like poetry. He rolled his eyes and made fun of it almost every day in Ms. Fox's class, and would probably just throw the book away or use the pages to roll his cigarettes or something.

But Blaine surprised him a moment later, when he read just one line from the book in a low, soft voice. "_Poetry is the shortest distance between two people._" He looked up at Kurt then, wide, grateful, hazel eyes taking in his face. He swallowed somewhat roughly, smiling and reaching out to squeeze Kurt's elbow in a gentle gesture that clearly said, _thank you_.

Kurt shrugged again. "It's nothing special," he said, still feeling somewhat embarrassed. "You don't even have to read it if you don't want to, I just –"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because Blaine backed him into the wall of lockers behind them and kissed him. It was an urgent, passionate kiss, and Kurt realized at once how much he'd been dying for the contact. He stood still and let himself be kissed for a few moments, but the shock wore off quickly, and then he was tracing his tongue against the seam of Blaine's lips, asking to be let in, to taste him just once, _please_, before they had to go their separate ways as school started. Blaine denied him, pushing dry and forceful against Kurt's lips, refusing to open his mouth.

"_Blaine_," Kurt whined pitifully, willing to beg right here in the halls of his high school if that's what it took. "Kiss me, come _on_." Technically Blaine _was_ kissing him, but he seemed to know what Kurt was asking for as he pulled back a few inches and looked at him with that maddeningly smug fire in his eyes.

"Sorry, baby. Didn't want to ruin the surprise."

Kurt blinked at him, confused. "What surprise?"

Blaine shoved his hands into his pockets and took a few steps back. Kurt wanted to reach out and stop him, because he wanted Blaine _closer_ not _farther away_, but he was too intrigued by the playful smile on Blaine's face to move. "I got something for you, too."

"You...you did? What is it?" Kurt had more than a little trouble believing that Blaine was the type to go and pick out a gift for him just because, especially only half a day after admitting to having feelings for him at all. His jaw almost hit the floor when, instead of reaching into his bag and pulling something out, like Kurt had expected, Blaine just opened his mouth and hung his tongue out past his lips, wagging it slightly. There was a shining, metal drop right in the center of his tongue, and Kurt gasped, reaching out to hold Blaine's chin and stepping forward to get close and just _stare_. Blaine's tongue was pierced, and Kurt had no idea why the sight of it made his stomach drop low and heat up. But it did. "What – when did you get _this_?"

"Yesterday. After you left." Blaine said, watching him closely, judging his reaction. He could probably tell that Kurt's brain had gone fuzzy when he saw the piercing, because he was smiling darkly at him as he toyed with it, flicking it against his teeth and watching Kurt's eyes go wider with every _tap_ and _click_.

"Oh," Kurt said, letting go of Blaine's face and clenching his fists tightly, willing himself not to surge forward and suck Blaine's tongue into his mouth so he could play with the enticing metal bead. He heard the final bell ring somewhere in the back of his mind, and a feeble voice in his head told him to hurry up and get to class, but it was overpowered by the strange, strong desire to stand here and stare at Blaine's tongue. "And. How exactly – what do you mean it's for me?"

Blaine took his hands from his pockets and reached for Kurt's hips, walking them back up against the lockers and leaning heavily into his body. "Open your mouth. I'll show you."

He did, immediately, and Blaine kissed him. _Really_ kissed him, this time, his lips urging Kurt's open wider as his tongue finally thrust in and rolled through his mouth.

Oh.

_Oh_. He liked this. The piercing was smooth and solid and cool, a total contrast to the warm, wet flex of muscle that was Blaine's tongue working against the roof of his mouth. Kurt felt an intense shiver run from his neck down to the very tips of his toes as Blaine tapped and teased the ball in his mouth. He tasted different now, too. Like cigarettes and metal and _danger_. He sought out Blaine's tongue, tentatively trapping the piercing underneath his own and just feeling it, trying to memorize Blaine's mouth all over again now that there was something new to discover there.

He felt a little like dying when Blaine slipped away from him a few seconds later. _No, come back, you taste so good_, he wanted to say. Blaine was looking at him, equal parts arousal and amusement in his dark eyes, politely pretending not to notice that Kurt was having a lust-induced mental breakdown over a tongue piercing. "So. What do you think, baby?"

"Okay, yeah. That's – that's nice." Kurt's breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling in a rapid, uneven rhythm as he tried to recover from yet another amazing new sensation. He was beginning to wonder how many more times he was going to have the wind knocked out of him by Blaine's lips. The tally was already ridiculously high considering they'd only been kissing each other for a week.

"I'm glad you like it," Blaine said, grinning his cocky grin and pulling on the metal ball teasingly with his teeth. "Come over and play after school, and I'll try it out on the rest of you, too." His eyes dropped lightning-quick to the crotch of Kurt's jeans and back up, pupils blown wide and tongue sliding out to lick his lips, as if the sight of the tight, straining denim made him hungry.

Kurt swallowed hard and Blaine smiled even more broadly, his eyes watching Kurt's throat working and the blood rushing to his face. He had a pretty good idea what Blaine was suggesting, and the mere thought of Blaine's mouth – his _tongue_, that _piercing_ – dragging over him made his palms sweat and his head light and foggy. His heart was racing and his mouth felt dry, but he tried to speak anyway. "We...we have to get some work done first, but after we, uh...after we finish, yeah, that – that could be fun."

"It will be," Blaine assured him, before stepping back into Kurt's space and lifting his lips to whisper to him, breath warm and wonderful over Kurt's neck. "I just know you're gonna taste as good as you look, baby." If the words weren't enough to make Kurt feel like he was going to faint on the spot, the alluring click of Blaine's tongue ring right in his ear was. He held his palms flat against the lockers behind him, willing the cold metal to cool him down, stop the rush of heat from spreading through his limbs.

"We're late," Kurt managed, just barely, because Blaine was kissing and licking at that spot just behind his ear, and the metal bead flicking against the lobe made him weak in the knees and dizzy. He only just had enough air in his lungs to choke out the words. Blaine hummed, half-resigned, half-disappointed as he pulled away.

"Fine, fine," he said. "Get to class then, Hummel. But in six hours, you're all mine, and I'm going to teach you something you'll actually enjoy learning." Blaine grinned and leaned forward to kiss him one more time, shoving his tongue into Kurt's open, gasping mouth and twisting it briefly inside, tapping the piercing just once against the back of Kurt's teeth and then taking it away again. He smiled darkly as he moved for the door to his homeroom. "Later, baby."

And then he was gone, and Kurt was left standing alone in the hall, struggling to remember his own name and exactly which class he was supposed to be getting to.

* * *

Six hours later, the bell signaling the end of sixth period rang, and Kurt had to remind himself that he was still in a classroom, surrounded by his friends and peers, and leaping out of his seat and shouting for joy would probably be viewed as strange, however glad everyone else was that the day was finally over. He settled for quickly shoving his things into his bag and hastily clearing the table he shared with Mercedes of the cooking utensils they'd dirtied over the past hour.

"Off to another study date?" Mercedes asked, watching him bustle around the room with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Kurt said, inwardly wondering if the term _study date_ was appropriate for what he and Blaine did after school. Probably not. But that was all going to change today. Today they would get something accomplished. No, seriously. They would.

If Mercedes was trying to keep the disapproving frown off her face, it wasn't working. "Well, don't forget that you promised to go shopping with me and Rachel tomorrow. So you might want to get a couple days' worth of '_work_' done tonight."

Damn. He'd forgotten all about that. He was supposed to help his two friends get ready for their budget prom date with Sam. Rachel still had to find a dress and Mercedes needed shoes, and he had promised to lend his eye and expertise to the cause.

"No, yeah, of course," he sputtered, wrestling a smile onto his face and attempting to look excited. It was a strange experience; he'd never had to fake enthusiasm about a shopping spree before.

Mercedes could obviously tell the difference. "Come on, Kurt. It'll be fun. And hey," she smiled coyly at him and gave his arm a little pinch. "Maybe you could squeeze some shopping in yourself. It's your Junior Prom, too, you know."

"I already told you I'm making my outfit," Kurt reminded her. "And if you're teasing me because you think I'll be bringing a date, well, forget it. I'm still going stag."

"What?" Mercedes practically shrieked. "Why isn't Blaine taking you?"

Kurt glared at her and hissed, "Will you keep your voice down?" He glanced around the room at the other students still wiping down their tables. None of them seemed to be listening, but still. "For starters, I didn't ask him. Weren't you just telling me yesterday that I had to be careful? And besides, it's not exactly like Blaine and I are..._official_...or anything. We're kind of just..." he trailed off. What were he and Blaine doing exactly?

"Having fun?" Mercedes finished for him, thankfully in a much quieter tone.

"Yeah," Kurt said, but he couldn't keep the tiniest edge of sadness from his voice. "I mean, not that the romance of it wouldn't be nice, but...I don't really think that's what we have. Not yet, anyway. And this is Ohio. Two boys going to a dance together would probably just stir up trouble."

Mercedes gave him a sympathetic smile. "Sad, but true. Still, I hate to see you miss out."

Kurt shrugged good-naturedly. "I'll still get to dance with my friends," he said. "Provided you can sneak away from Sam for at least one song."

"I'll save you _ten_ dances, boo," Mercedes grinned. "I have to share Sam with Rachel, anyway, remember?"

They were laughing on their way out of the classroom, but Kurt sobered as soon as they pushed into the hallway. Blaine was leaning against the lockers, waiting for him again, his eyes trained on Kurt and his tongue pulled between his teeth. The new piercing was shining and clicking and making Kurt's blood burn hot under his skin. He forgot Mercedes entirely for a few seconds, and by the time he'd recovered enough from the sight of Blaine to say goodbye, she was already halfway down the hall, waving at him over her shoulder. He turned back to Blaine, who had shrugged himself away from the wall and was walking to him. Kurt had to talk himself through each inhale and exhale with Blaine so close, the scent of nicotine enough to make him insane after so many hours spent sucking it out of Blaine's lungs. Was it possible to develop a nicotine addiction by kissing a smoker every day? Kurt thought it might be.

"Finally," Blaine said, looking him up and down with stark, starving eyes.

"I know," Kurt breathed.

"So, baby," that grin lit up Kurt's insides every single time he saw it, starting in his chest and flaring outward, until his stomach felt tight and his toes felt warm and he could feel a matching smile taking over his own face. "My place?"

* * *

"Take off your shirt," Kurt said, as soon as the door to Blaine's room clicked shut behind them half an hour later.

Blaine raised his eyebrows at him as he tossed his bag to the floor, a stunned but impressed smile twitching on his lips as he obeyed a rare order from Kurt, crossing his arms in front of him and clutching at the hem of his tee, dragging it off his torso and dropping it to the floor in one fluid movement. Kurt flinched. The bruises on his body hadn't healed as quickly as the ones on his face. They were still deep and ugly. But _god_, underneath them, Blaine was beautiful.

"In a hurry, Hummel? What happened to '_We have work to do_'?" Blaine asked, not sounding even for a moment like he cared, his voice low and rumbling as he stepped closer to Kurt, reaching for his shirt buttons and popping two of them open before Kurt could even blink, clearly hoping to get him in a similar state of undress.

Kurt batted his hand away, ducking out from the strap of his school bag and rifling inside. "This first," he said, finding the bandage he'd stolen from Carole's linen closet the night before and hauling it out. Blaine stared.

"What the hell is that for?" he took a few steps away, his brow furrowing as he took in the roll of white gauze tape in Kurt's hand. He was scowling, apparently aware now that Kurt's plans were not near as sexy as he'd initially hoped.

"What do you think?" Kurt said, reaching out for Blaine's waist, ignoring the little shock that ran through him as he felt the warmth of his skin under his fingertips. "Hold still."

Blaine twisted away from him, looking angry. "Who asked you to come over here and fix me?"

Exasperated, Kurt dropped his hands to his side and sighed loudly. "At some point are you going to stop being a jackass every time I take an interest in you, or should I just prepare myself for a hissy fit if I want to do anything that doesn't involve getting naked?"

"I don't need you to take care of me," Blaine shot at him. "I do just fine on my own, in case you haven't noticed."

He gestured around the empty room, as if to remind Kurt that he lived alone, but Kurt only scoffed. "Yeah, you're right. I guess the whole_ flunking out of high school_ thing is a shining example of just how great you're doing without any help."

"I – that's because – there are reasons I haven't –" Blaine ran his fingers through his curls, and Kurt couldn't help it, he softened just a little at Blaine's obvious frustration.

"Hey," Kurt said in a calmer tone, reaching for Blaine's arm. "I know you don't need me, okay? But...you have me. And _I_ have a woefully uncoordinated quarterback stepbrother. I've watched my stepmom do this a dozen times, and I know that those are hurting you more than you let on." Blaine opened his mouth to argue, but didn't manage to say anything before Kurt poked him hard in the ribs.

"_Aagh_!" he grunted, clutching at the spot where Kurt had prodded him and glaring at him under a heavy brow. "_Christ_, Hummel. That hurt."

Kurt couldn't stop the smug look of triumph that spread over his face as he stepped closer. "I know it did. So let me do this for you. And then, maybe in a little while," he took a deep breath, and rushed the rest of his words out before he could get scared and think better of it, "I'll let you take care of me, too."

Blaine didn't immediately answer, but he didn't pull out of Kurt's reach either. He just looked at him with that wary, closed off expression for a long minute, before eventually letting his eyes drift down over Kurt's body, lingering for just a moment at his crotch and then climbing back up to his eyes. He didn't look angry anymore; there was want rather than venom in his gaze. Although, Kurt thought, Blaine's lust was probably even more dangerous than his wrath. It was relentless, infectious, and impossible to resist.

"I want to blow you," Blaine said suddenly, his eyes bright and his tongue ring tapping alluringly against his teeth as he spoke, emphasizing the point.

Kurt's mouth was hanging open again. "I – homework," was all he could manage, his brain stuck on imagining that cool metal bead tracing down his length. But. No. There was too much to do.

Blaine smirked at him. "Okay. Homework. But then I want to blow you."

Kurt ignored him, swallowing thickly and silently praying that his heart wasn't going to pound itself into a bloody pulp inside his chest. "Is it okay if – can I do this now?" he asked, holding up the roll of tape and trying very hard to look Blaine in the eye. It was difficult. He was fighting a sudden, inexplicable desire to stare at his mouth.

"Go ahead, baby," Blaine said, lifting his arms slightly so that Kurt could get the tape around his middle, then leaning close and hissing a filthy promise into his ear, "Fix me up, and then I'm going to swallow you down."

Kurt tried to concentrate despite the way his stomach twisted at Blaine's words, peeling the gauze back a few inches and placing it gently against Blaine's skin. It wasn't just the talk distracting him, though. Each time he leaned over Blaine's shoulders, stretching the tape carefully around Blaine's waist, wanting it tight but not _too_ tight, Blaine would mouth over his throat, his neck, his jawline, any part of him that he could reach, teasing him with the cold push of the piercing against his warm skin. Kurt chewed on his lower lip, the sting of his teeth helping to keep his mind off the way his skin burned hot where Blaine kissed him. He wrapped the bandage around Blaine's ribcage an even dozen times before taping it in place, then gently nudged Blaine away to survey his work.

"How does that feel?" he asked. "Can you move okay?"

Blaine wiggled this way and that, hinging a little at the waist to test it out. "It's good," he said, running his fingers over the tape, pushing on his side experimentally. "A little tight, maybe. But I guess that's the point, huh?"

"Well, yeah. You want it to keep everything in place."

There was that smug smile again. Blaine's fingers were suddenly back to work on Kurt's buttons. "Right," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Now let's get you in your place, baby. Bed."

Kurt gave in long enough for Blaine to get his dress shirt off, and took two involuntary steps toward the mattress before he came to his senses, moving Blaine's hands away from his undershirt and pulling his features into what he hoped was a stern, fixed expression.

"No," he said, and then, for good measure, he said it again. "No. I spent three hours making that study schedule. We have to follow it or I'll have to do it all over again, and we'll have even less time to get all of your work done."

Blaine sighed and moved to sit down on the bed, slower than usual because of his bandages. He looked up at Kurt with those dark, piercing, hazel eyes, and Kurt knew he would cave at once if Blaine made even one more try for the rest of his clothes. He didn't, though. Instead he gestured to Kurt's bag, apparently resigned to the fact that there would have to be work before there could be play.

"Let's get this over with, then," he grumbled.

"Sorry," Kurt told him with a grim smile, settling down at the opposite end of the bed – he knew it would be a bad idea to sit too close – and taking out the folders he'd organized Blaine's homework into the night before. "I know it sucks, but –"

"But then it's my turn," Blaine finished, grinning wickedly at him and reclining against his headboard as he watched Kurt unload his school bag.

Kurt once again had to make a concentrated effort not to gape shamelessly at Blaine's lips. He paused, cleared his throat, and composed himself before handing Blaine the calendar he'd written their schedule on. Blaine leaned forward to take it and scanned it quickly, the grin melting off his face almost instantly.

"Holy shit. I have eleven chapters to read tonight," he groaned.

"Yeah, I know, sorry," Kurt told him. "You might want to finish _The Outsiders_, too, if you can find time. I didn't write it in so it'd probably be best to get it out of the way."

"Plus a map of Eastern Europe in World History, scatter plots in Statistics, that Robert Frost analysis for Ms. Fox, and nine – _nine_, are you kidding me? – essay questions." Blaine looked up, looking less than thrilled.

"At least we don't have to worry about Mrs. McCann's class," Kurt was aiming for optimism, here. "I'm actually really glad she kicked you out, or it'd be even worse."

Blaine cracked a smile at that. "Oh, we'll still work on chemistry, baby. Just not the kind they teach in school."

Kurt busied himself with his school bag again, hauling out textbooks and rummaging for a couple of pencils, hoping that his blush wasn't too noticeable. "Well, anyway. We better get started. What do you want to do first?"

The tongue piercing clicked against Blaine's teeth as he studied the calendar again, and Kurt had the sudden and intense urge to yank the thing out of Blaine's hands, scribble _make out with Kurt_ on today's date, and suggest they start there, but before he could act on the impulse Blaine was sighing and reaching for his history book.

"I guess I'll do this stupid map," he said. "Even though I can't draw for shit."

"I can," Kurt told him, and Blaine glanced up at him with a smirk, no doubt remembering the day they'd collided in the hallway and he'd stumbled across all those drawings of his own face in Kurt's sketchbook. Kurt's cheeks flushed again. "I...I could draw it for you while you do the reading. If you want."

Blaine looked pleased with this idea, and he shoved a blank piece of paper at him while settling back against the headboard and opening his book. "Sounds good to me."

"I'm only going to draw it," Kurt clarified, slightly worried that this would soon turn into him doing both Blaine's work and his own while Blaine sat around and waited to take his clothes off. "You have to label the countries and everything yourself."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Blaine muttered, turning the pages in his textbook a little more violently than was absolutely necessary and looking somewhat surly. "_'If you don't do it yourself you'll never learn.'_ Now shut up so I can read about the Cold War."

Kurt glared at him. "You know, we have enough to do as it is, but I suppose we could skip the fun stuff if I need to make time to teach you manners, too."

The history book was set aside, and Blaine scooted to the end of the bed where Kurt was sitting and leaned close, a playful light in his eyes and a mocking smile on his lips. "I have manners, baby. I'll even say please before I suck your dick tonight."

He closed the distance between their mouths then, laughing at Kurt's expression of wide-eyed shock, and then Kurt was smiling against his lips before he could help himself. But a moment later he snapped out of it, shoving Blaine back toward the pillows and bending with stubborn purpose over the sheet of paper to start sketching Bulgaria. "That's enough. Get to work."

Blaine raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Kurt let out a weary sigh that was more show than actual annoyance.

"_Please_," he tacked on, and Blaine gave a curt little nod and went back to reading, the ghost of a grin still dancing on his face.

* * *

Two hours, five smoke breaks, and about a thousand muttered swear words later, they were still working. Their shoes had been kicked off, and both of them had spread out a little on the bed, Blaine surrounded by every single one of his textbooks and Kurt stretched on his stomach at the foot of the bed. There had been a few brief moments of distraction. Blaine had tried (unsuccessfully) to tempt Kurt away from his studies with the click of his tongue ring against his teeth, or with an especially flirtatious nudge from his toes, or just by giving him a dark, lustful stare that made it hard for Kurt to concentrate on math problems. But Kurt's militant focus would only be lost for a second each time, until he realized how impossible an impromptu makeout session would be with all of those books and papers covering every square inch of the mattress.

Kurt was yawning from both drowsiness and boredom when Blaine finally snapped his Statistics book shut and fell in a heap against his pillows. Kurt looked up from his French homework, about to tell him to focus for the tenth time since they'd started working, but he stopped himself when he saw Blaine's tired but triumphant expression, feeling more awake at once now that he was looking at Blaine rather than a somewhat involved chart explaining how to conjugate French verbs.

"Are you finished?"

"Yes, _finally_," Blaine groaned, rubbing at his closed eyelids and sounding like he'd never been so relieved in his life.

"Thank goodness. I've been studying for my oral exam in French so long I thought I was going to forget my first language all together."

Blaine opened his eyes then, propping himself up on his elbows and lifting an eyebrow at Kurt suggestively. "Oral exam, huh?"

Kurt closed his French book slowly, unable to stop himself from staring at Blaine's flat, tan chest, his torso still bare but for the white bandage wrapped around his injured ribcage. His eyes drifted lower, following the thin, dark line of hair where it disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans, and he swallowed hard when he noticed the denim stretched tight over his groin. "Yeah, I, uh...I'm actually quite fluent, but the tests always make me nervous anyway. I think I'm ready for it, though."

He watched as Blaine shuffled his papers back into their various folders and then dropped them in a somewhat disheveled stack onto the bedside table. Then he was crawling across the bed to him, kissing his way along Kurt's jaw as he reached for the hem of his undershirt for the second time that day. This time Kurt didn't object, raising his arms overhead to help and then twisting them around Blaine's shoulders as his shirt hit the floor, leaning into him, chasing the warm rush he knew he would feel as soon as they were skin to skin against each other.

"Let's get you ready for me, then, baby," Blaine murmured, laying his palms flat against Kurt's pale chest and sliding them down over his abdomen, thumbs flicking the button of his jeans open with no trouble at all once they reached his hips, and Kurt sucked in a loud, gasping breath of relief as the pressure eased off his hard-on and Blaine gripped him with both hands. "I have an oral lesson for you, too," he said, and Kurt knew he was doing it again, gaping brazenly at Blaine's lips and letting his mind go blank and useless, but he didn't care.

"Okay," Kurt breathed, clinging to Blaine's small but strong body and thrilling when he was lifted to the center of the mattress with no show of effort at all. Blaine settled over him, just like he had the day before, and immediately leaned in to taste his skin, the metal bead darting and dragging along every line of him. His jaw. His throat. His collarbone. The curve of his shoulders. "Are you – I mean, do you want me to..?" he didn't exactly know how to finish his question, so he let his hands talk for him, reaching between them and stretching his fingers over the front of Blaine's jeans, feeling the firm swollen shape of him against his hand and squeezing.

Blaine reached for his hand, twining their fingers together and pinning his arm up above his head on the mattress, then answered the unspoken question as his lips kept exploring the pale stretch of his neck. "No, baby. You first."

"But – "

"_No_," Blaine growled, teeth scraping over Kurt's throat and sending a snap of heat down his spine. "I've been thinking about this all day, and I don't want to wait even one more minute. You first." He said it with such a firm finality that Kurt didn't dare argue, hardly wanting to turn down what Blaine was offering anyway. He'd be kidding himself if he tried to pretend he hadn't been daydreaming about Blaine's mouth touching him everywhere ever since he first glimpsed the piercing that morning.

Blaine sat up, kneeling over Kurt's body and tugging at his jeans somewhat impatiently. "Lift your hips up," he ordered, and Kurt did, barely able to catch his breath as Blaine worked the denim past the swell of his ass and down around his knees. Kurt lowered back to the bed, giggling softly and kicking his feet in an effort to help Blaine yank his pants off entirely. Eventually his legs were free, and Blaine tossed the jeans to the floor behind him and moved back over Kurt's body, easing back down to rest gently on top of him, kissing and licking at all the skin his mouth could reach as one hand roamed down his chest and came to rest at the hard shape in his underwear. "Fuck, I want to taste you so bad."

Kurt whimpered at the hot, hard pressure against his cock and at Blaine's words. He'd never expected to have any specific kinks or leanings, but as it turned out, Blaine's mouth was a definite thing for him. Those lips, that tongue, the filthy things he said in Kurt's ear. It was enough to make his typically very level head spin with need. The idea of that mouth wrapped around his dick made him dizzy even though he was lying still.

He could feel sparks of lust flaring in his skin wherever Blaine kissed him, something hot and electric running through him until he felt as desperate as Blaine sounded, his hand still stroking Kurt's length as he whispered all of his wants into his flesh. "Let me have it, baby. I want to take you in my mouth."

Blaine's skin was hot, and Kurt let his hands run over what he could reach, the small of his back, up across the rough bandage and over his shoulder blades, smooth and warm and firm with muscle that shifted underneath his palms as Blaine chased the sheen of sweat on Kurt's body with his tongue. He moved down the bed, licking along Kurt's side to his hips, sinking his teeth into the sharp angle there and stilling his hands at the elastic of his boxers, a pause to ask permission.

"Please, baby," he groaned, his lips resting at the skin just above the waistband, placing a row of kisses there and begging Kurt to let him move lower.

"Yes," Kurt told him. "Yes, go ahead. I'm – _Jesus_, I'm going crazy."

Blaine sat up, slowly and deliberately tucking the tips of his fingers under the waistband and tugging them down just the slightest inch, inhaling deep and then sliding them down the rest of his legs and finally off all together. His mouth fell open and his eyes went wide, and as soon as Kurt's briefs were forgotten on the floor, his hands were _everywhere_ – softly brushing the light hair on his calves, slipping between Kurt's body and the mattress to squeeze at his bare ass, giving his cock a couple of lazy, awed strokes while he took him in. His eyes started at Kurt's and trailed all the way down to his toes, dark as twilight with lust and fascination.

"I'm naked," Kurt said, and, _duh_, that was obvious, but it was strange and astonishing all the same. He had always used his clothes as a means to show the world who he was, but now he was bare and exposed and yet, _god_, the way those eyes were looking at him. Kurt could tell Blaine could see him. _Really_ see him and understand him and know him this way, and wow. He liked the feeling.

"You're stunning," Blaine breathed, and Kurt marveled again at the way Blaine's hands shook when they mapped over his bare skin, fingertips stroking down over his legs, and then reaching behind one knee to draw it up, bend it so that Blaine could brace his shoulder underneath and move closer to his cock. He took a firm grip on Kurt's ass, squeezing into the flesh gently and shifting him just so, one arm wrapped around Kurt's raised thigh and the other stretched along his opposite side, his rough hand holding on to his hip and stroking over it soothingly.

"Comfortable?" Blaine asked simply, and Kurt nodded. "Nervous?"

Kurt nodded again, but Blaine just nuzzled his face into the inside of his thigh, kissing the skin there lightly before giving it a playful nibble and flick of his tongue.

"Don't be, baby. And keep your eyes open. Watching is half of the fun."

So Kurt watched as Blaine glanced up at his face through his thick lashes, eyes dark and lips upturned into an arrogant smile just before he parted them and sank down to take him in his mouth.

"Oh, fuck. _Fuck_." Kurt had been waiting for this all day. Waiting for it, but by no means prepared for just how sensational it would feel. Blaine's mouth was every bit as magical on his cock as it was on his lips and his neck and the rest of him, too. It was wet and hot and tight and wonderful, but before he even had time to register the pace Blaine was working him over at - the way he bobbed shallowly and then dove down to let him all the way in, the swirl of his tongue and the piercing around the head of his dick - the burn had started in the pit of his stomach. Already.

The wave of heat was rushing over him fast, rising high and crashing hard in his veins, the sheer force of it causing his hips to jerk up and push deeper into Blaine's mouth, but just before it peaked, just before the rush came down over him, a sudden, crippling knot of panic rose in his throat, and he twisted away and out of Blaine's mouth as he came, gasping and spilling over the sheets while Blaine watched, his mouth still shining and open and a look of total shock on his dark features, as if he couldn't quite understand what had just happened.

"Shit," Kurt panted, mortified and shaking and furious with himself for freaking out and ruining everything. "_Shit_. I'm sorry, I –" he couldn't look at Blaine, the lump in his throat from embarrassment and disappointment rather than panic now. He pulled his knees to his chest and hid his face in his hands, feeling like at any moment he might start to cry. "I – that was terrible, wasn't it?"

Blaine closed his hands around Kurt's wrists, tugging on them gently and trying to pull them away from his face, but Kurt resisted, groaning into his palms and trying to figure out how he was going to get dressed and get out of there without having to make eye contact, and also if he would be allowed to transfer to a different English class this late in the semester.

"Kurt." If anything could have made him feel better, it was that. The sound of Blaine's voice, low and patient and lovely, saying his name. "Kurt, baby, look at me."

He gave in, dropping his hands from his face and hugging his knees close instead, chancing a nervous glance in Blaine's direction and noting the smile on his lips. Not the mocking, arrogant kind, though. No. It was kind and caring and, fuck, _so_ beautiful.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked softly, and Kurt scoffed and looked down again, a fresh surge of shame hitting him when he glimpsed the cool, sticky streaks on his stomach and thighs. He shifted the sheet over his knees, attempting to cover the mess and his body from view, feeling about a million degrees hotter than could possibly be normal.

"No," he mumbled. "I – I don't know what happened. I just got scared and overwhelmed and screwed it all up. Sorry."

Blaine scooted over to him, nudging him with his shoulder and ducking his head to try to meet Kurt's eyes. Kurt gave him a timid look, and the knot in his throat quickly melted into something more akin to warm appreciation. Blaine's hazel eyes were wide and open and concerned. "I pushed you, didn't I?" he said. "I'm sorry, baby. We don't have to do anything like that anymore if you don't want to, okay? I didn't mean to pressure you or scare you or – "

Kurt shook his head. "No, I wanted to do it," he assured him. "And it felt incredible, I – it just snuck up on me, and then I was about to..._come_...in your _mouth_, and I – I thought you might not like it."

He chewed silently on his lower lip for a long moment while Blaine just gaped at him, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with disbelief rather than worry now. "Kurt, what did you think I meant when I told you I wanted to taste you?"

"I know what you meant," Kurt said, "but I don't have the slightest clue what I'm doing and I just _know_ I'm going to mess up eventually and you'll never even look at me again. And that would be...the worst."

"Baby, I couldn't stay away from you if I tried," Blaine whispered, brushing a stray, swooping lock of hair off his forehead and leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "And you're not going to mess anything up."

"I just did!" Kurt groaned miserably.

Blaine shook his head and reached his rough hands up to hold Kurt's face firmly, aiming it to meet his eyes, intense and dark and serious. "No, you didn't. It was perfect. You're perfect."

Kurt felt a smile tremor across his lips. "I was talking about your sheets."

Blaine glanced down between them at Kurt's half-covered body, at the come pooling in the crease of his hip and soaking into the bedsheets. Kurt felt himself going red again, but Blaine just grinned and shrugged, "Sex is messy, baby. If you don't get at least a little dirty, you're not doing it right."

They beamed at each other, and then all at once Blaine gripped him by the waist and tumbled him down to the mattress, pulling a wild giggle from Kurt as they landed with a _fwump_ side by side on the bed. Blaine slid an arm underneath Kurt's neck and tugged him over, letting him curl into his side and trace his pale fingers through the sparse hair on his chest. They lay still and quiet for a long time, Blaine's rough hand rubbing gently up and down Kurt's back and his nose buried in his hair. It was comfortable and warm and pleasant, and Kurt was amazed how quickly he could go from humiliation to total ease with Blaine. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that Blaine always seemed to know the right thing to say, at least since Kurt had gotten used to all the lewd and suggestive remarks.

And apparently the right thing to say while Kurt was naked and tangled up in his sheets was, "What's your family like?

Blaine asked the question suddenly, in a hushed tone barely louder than a whisper. Kurt was surprised, wondering why on earth Blaine wanted to know about his home life now, of all times.

"My family?"

"Yeah. Tell me about them."

"What do you want to know?" Kurt asked, turning to face Blaine on the bed and watching as he absentmindedly traced his rough fingertips over the bandage on his torso, looking serious.

"You mentioned your stepmom earlier," Blaine said. "When did your dad get remarried?"

"Last year. November," Kurt told him, still curious as to where this conversation was going.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Blaine reached up to thread his fingers through Kurt's hair, studying his face. "Why did he get remarried? Did he and your mom split up or...?"

And all at once Kurt realized just how little of his time with Blaine had been spent talking. He'd shared his body with him before even one detail about his personal life had come up. He knew next to nothing about the darkly handsome boy lying next to him, and Blaine didn't know anything about him either.

But apparently he wanted to.

"My mom died. When I was eight," Kurt said softly, speaking around a lump forming in his throat. He rarely talked about his mom with anyone, but when he did, it still felt like a punch to the gut.

Blaine's eyes had gone wide. "I'm sorry," he said. "We don't have to talk about it. I was just curious."

Kurt shook his head. "No, it's okay. It doesn't bother me. I mean, of course I miss her, and I get sad when I think about her, because to be honest I feel like I remember her a little less with each passing year, but...I don't know. I've still got my dad, and that's everything," he paused, and then, "He had a heart attack last year, and for a week I thought I was going to lose him, too. I've never been more afraid in my life."

"You're pretty close, then?" Blaine said, the familiar clouds drifting over his intense eyes.

"We are," Kurt said. "It was just the two of us for so long. If we didn't lean on each other we would have been alone, you know?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," Blaine swallowed hard and turned away from him, lying flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling. His jaw was set and his dark eyebrows were drawn low over his eyes. He looked almost angry, and Kurt moved closer to him, shyly reaching out to rest an arm over his chest, his fingers tracing along Blaine's shoulder in a gesture he could only hope was soothing.

"Do you...do you want to talk about your family?" he tried, wondering if maybe Blaine had brought the whole thing up because he was looking for some kind of sounding board.

Blaine shook his head, turning back toward him and slipping his arms around Kurt's waist, drawing him closer. "I want to talk about you."

"Oh. Well, I don't know what else to tell you."

"Your dad knows you're gay," Blaine said, and Kurt nodded silently. They'd talked about this before. "When did you come out?"

"Officially?" Kurt asked, and Blaine nodded. "Sophomore year. But he said he'd known for a long time. I wasn't exactly...discreet, I guess. My two favorite things growing up were show tunes and moisturizer."

He chuckled to himself, but Blaine still looked serious and interested. "And he didn't care?"

"Not really," Kurt answered at once. "He's always been in my corner. I think the hardest thing for him was finding out I was getting so much crap at school, but he tried to protect me from it as best he could. Had meetings with Principal Figgins, sent me to private school for a while."

"Did you like it there?"

"Where? At Dalton?" Kurt clarified, and Blaine nodded again, his curls bouncing just slightly with the motion. Kurt twisted his fingers in them and smiled as he answered. "It was okay. Everyone was nice to me there. But," he nudged closer to Blaine, so that they were suddenly sharing the same pillow and he could speak to him in a whisper. "I like it better here."

"You like _me_," Blaine whispered back.

"You're okay," Kurt teased, feeling happy and tingly and playful. "Your tongue ring, on the other hand, is _spectacular_."

Blaine beamed, leaning forward and kissing him deeply, tracing the piercing over the roof of Kurt's mouth and humming softly as Kurt shivered into the kiss. One arm unwrapped itself from Kurt's waist and snaked down between their bodies, his hand flattening gently over the sheet on Kurt's still-soft dick. It stirred with interest at the touch, and Kurt felt his pulse speeding up and his blood running warmer when he tasted the metal on Blaine's tongue, gasping quietly when Blaine's fingers flexed around his growing length.

"How does this feel?" Blaine asked, his voice low and deep and full of need.

"Good," Kurt breathed. "Really good."

Blaine's fingers dragged over the sheet again, just once. "Not too much?"

"No. It's – it's _a lot_ but not, not too much, no." Kurt's entire body was humming as Blaine woke it up again, heavy and hot and sensitive, but definitely ready if Blaine had more in mind.

Which he clearly did.

"Good, baby," he said, sitting up and dropping over the side of the bed. He threw the sheet off of Kurt's body and tugged him by the calves to the edge of the mattress, settling on his knees between Kurt's spread legs and stroking his fingers slowly up his thighs. A shiver echoed down Kurt's spine as he sat up to watch. He was naked and exposed and Blaine was _right there_, just staring at him, but a rush of static filled his head before he had time to be embarrassed, his blood surging in another tight wave to his cock as Blaine's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "We're going to try this again. But this time I want you to fuck into my mouth."

Wait. What?

Kurt shook his head, his heart racing from panic rather than arousal now. "No. I – I don't know how," he blurted out, reaching for the sheet and attempting to cover himself up, too nervous to even _think_ about doing this now. Blaine wasn't going to let him hide, though.. He tossed the sheet off of him again, yanking it off the bed entirely and chucking it to the floor behind him so Kurt couldn't retrieve it.

"Yes, you do. You already did it last time, remember? The way your hips stuttered forward when you came?"

"That – no, that was an accident. I didn't mean to – "

"I know you didn't, baby, but it was great. That's your body doing what feels good. That's instinct. So this time don't apologize. Just go with it."

Kurt just stared at him, eyes wide and hands gripping the edge of the bed so tight his knuckles were turning white. "I'm...just really scared of messing it up."

"You won't," Blaine grinned crookedly at him. "I know what I'm doing, and I'll help you, okay?"

A skeptical little snort of laughter escaped Kurt, even though he was terrified and naked and trembling and nothing at all about this situation was funny. "How are you supposed to talk me through anything with your mouth full?"

Now it was Blaine's turn to laugh – a short, loud burst of amusement – but he sobered quickly, looking up at Kurt with eyes so blown with lust they were almost black and tapping his tongue ring against his teeth in a sort of hypnotizing rhythm. He held on to Kurt's hips, thumbs stroking back and forth over the sharp jut of his bones and fingers digging pleasantly into the flesh of his ass, coaxing him closer to his open mouth. Kurt was still hard despite his nerves, and he swallowed audibly at the sight of Blaine's flushed lips mere inches from him, so tempted by the memory of how fucking fantastic they had felt on him the first time.

"It's going to feel so good, baby. Even better than last time," Blaine murmured, as if he knew exactly what Kurt was thinking. "I'm right here and I'm waiting for you."

Kurt still didn't move, paralyzed by fear and anxiety, and Blaine finally seemed to grow impatient. He leaned forward, breathing a warm breath over Kurt's erection and dragging his bottom lip across the thick vein underneath. It caught just slightly on the swell of the head and he swiped his tongue out to free it, and when the metal bead pushed just so against the slit Kurt jerked his hips forward without even thinking, his cock sliding easily into Blaine's willing mouth, and the number of times Blaine's lips took his breath away grew by one. He recovered and pulled out again, stilling his hips and shaking.

Blaine licked his lips and smiled darkly at him. He was so _gorgeous_, looking at him like that, his mouth wet and shining and open for him. "Again, baby. And don't stop until I'm done swallowing."

Kurt closed his eyes and obeyed, pushing once, twice into Blaine's mouth before getting shy and stopping himself. But then those strong hands pulled Kurt's hips forward so that he sank past Blaine's lips a third time, and the piercing felt so good, rolling along his shaft in a cool line while Blaine's mouth covered him, hot and tight and _unbelievable_; he couldn't help himself. He shoved in again, thrusting forward blindly, and nearly cried out when he felt Blaine's lips pull tighter around him, his tongue stroking his cock with a wet, lazy rhythm as he sucked. It took the sharp dig of Blaine's fingernails against his back for him to realize he'd stopped driving into his mouth, too caught up in the rolling pleasure pooling in his belly to remember that he was supposed to be doing the work this time, and he responded to Blaine's urging with a couple of quick, apologetic shifts forward. Blaine moaned around his length, the vibrations thrumming through Kurt's entire body as he felt his cock reach the back of Blaine's throat.

"Is this – _ah_, fuck – is this okay?" his voice was a breathy rasp as he asked the question, and Blaine took his hands from Kurt's back and found Kurt's in answer, threading their fingers together and squeezing once before leading him to hold his head, pushing Kurt's hands into his hair and looking up at him as Kurt drove into his mouth again, his eyes lustful and encouraging. Oh, okay. Blaine wanted him to steer his mouth over him. He tentatively moved him, just a slight nudge of pressure from the tips of his fingers against Blaine's scalp, just to make sure this was what he wanted, and when Blaine gave another broken, high whine around his dick Kurt took it as a good sign. He went for it, pulling Blaine forward to meet his thrusts, watching as he sank even deeper between Blaine's perfect lips again and again, the control somehow making the feeling – the warm, wet drag and pull of Blaine's studded tongue – even more intense.

He tore his eyes away from Blaine's mouth moving over him a few moments later to watch Blaine's hands, which were now fumbling with the button and zipper of his own jeans. Kurt's eyes went wide and he froze as he watched Blaine take his own dick in his hand, stroking over himself desperately, breathing harshly through his nose as his tongue kept working over Kurt's erection, sucking and swirling his tongue around the head in perfect time with Kurt's rapid, thumping heartbeat. He felt almost jealous as he watched Blaine pump himself, wanting to reach down and touch him, too, feel the flushed red perfection of it in his own hands. Blaine let out an impatient, needy groan, an inarticulate but surprisingly clear request for him to to keep moving, and Kurt tried to simultaneously focus on fucking forward between Blaine's lips and take everything in at once.

The peak was coming fast again, and Kurt was glad to notice that the familiar, gathering warmth at the base of his spine was alone this time, no fear or anxiety alongside it. He pushed Blaine's open mouth over him with a little less grace and rhythm as the heat pitched and rolled low in his stomach, his thrusts more and more erratic and desperate as he got closer. Blaine seemed to know Kurt was near the edge, his hand moving faster over his own cock, working to catch up so they could tip over together.

Blaine glanced up at him as Kurt gave one last push past his lips, eyes almost black with desire and greed and pleasure, and it only took a second under that gaze of fulfilled lust before Kurt was coming down Blaine's throat, too caught up in fucking that perfect mouth to feel any worry at all. The waves of ecstasy wracked his body, and he nearly passed out as Blaine lapped furiously along his length, sucking hard and swallowing down every drop of him and then humming a satisfied growl around his cock and coming himself, spilling over his fist and lurching a little on Kurt's cock as it hit him. Kurt struggled to keep his eyes open to watch, and the expression on Blaine's face – eyes dark and rolled back in his head, cheeks red and hollowed and mouth still full of Kurt's cock and come – was the most soul-shattering, perfect, arousing thing he'd ever seen. If he hadn't just come for the second time inside of an hour, he'd be hard again in an instant.

He was trembling when Blaine slid his mouth off of him a minute later, his dick already gone soft and wilting weakly against his abdomen as he tried to recover. He felt cold, the heat that had been building and coursing in his veins ebbing and leaving him with goosebumps all over his body. Although, to be fair, that could have been from much more than the chill. His hands were still buried in Blaine's curls, and he tipped forward with the last of his strength to place a shaky kiss to Blaine's temple before giving in to the heaviness in his whole body and falling backwards to the mattress.

Blaine followed him, out of breath and arms shaking slightly as he climbed off of his knees and spread out alongside him on the bed. He wiped his hand on the already messy sheet underneath them and rested his sweaty forehead against Kurt's chest, until their heartbeats slowed to a normal pace together and he was no longer gasping for air.

"Good, huh?"

"Spectacular," Kurt said teasingly, though it wasn't really a joke at all. He thought _blowjobs_ might have just shot above _show tunes_ and _moisturizer_ on that list of his favorite things, but he kept the thought to himself. "I think the best part was seeing you, you know, _get there_. That – that was incredible."

Blaine laughed, his eyes soft and maybe a bit tired as they looked down at Kurt's face, which felt like it might split wide open from smiling so broadly.

"Knew you'd like it," Blaine told him. "You really are amazing, you know. You just need confidence."

"I guess I did feel a little more confident that time," Kurt thought aloud.

"That's because you were in control," Blaine said. "You're only going to feel like you know what you're doing if you actually _do_ something, and so far I've just been pinning you down and kissing you." He gave a guilty, one-shouldered shrug. "I guess I'm not a very good teacher."

Kurt smiled slyly at him and lifted his face to Blaine's, slotting their lips together and licking inside his mouth hungrily, pushing the muscle of his tongue firmly against the roof of Blaine's mouth and then rolling it back out, tugging on Blaine's bottom lip just slightly with his teeth and drawing a pleased growl from his throat. Blaine smirked.

"I take it back. I'm a fucking _fantastic_ teacher. You're welcome."

Kurt laughed, and Blaine traced over the curve of his lips, his dimples, the creases at the corners of his eyes with his rough fingertips, grinning as if Kurt's giddiness were contagious and following his fingers with his mouth, pressing little kisses over each tell of his happiness.

"I should go," Kurt mumbled reluctantly into Blaine's hair, brushing his lips back and forth against the soft curls and breathing in the scent of him. Sweat and sex and nicotine. It was getting late, almost 7 o'clock now, and his dad would wonder where he was if he didn't head home soon.

"Not yet," Blaine pleaded between sweet, lingering touches of his lips. "Stay long enough for me to kiss you one more time."

Kurt tugged on Blaine's hair gently, tilting his head to meet his heavy gaze. "Only one more time?" he asked, letting the tiniest hint of disappointment into his words. He'd stay long enough for a hundred more, if Blaine asked him to.

"Mmhm," Blaine was so close, his eyelashes dusting over Kurt's cheeks each time he blinked and his breath warm and intoxicating as he whispered across his skin. "Every inch of you, one more time. Stay."

He did.

It took a while.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Hey everyone! I don't even know what to say about the fact that there are over 300 of you following this story. Thank you for sticking with me and for the wonderfully kind things you write in your reviews. They make me so, _so_ happy and I seriously smile for hours straight over every single one.

Anyway. I love you all. So here's another chapter. A little shorter than the last one, but complete with talk of blowjobs and frottage. Hope you all are into that sort of thing. Just kidding. Of course you are. xo

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**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 9**

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Blaine slid into his seat in the back of Ms. Fox's class the following afternoon, and it took less than a second for him to lean forward over his desk to whisper in Kurt's ear, "Are you coming over after school?" The tongue ring flicked over his skin as Blaine breathed warm on his neck, and Kurt had to use all his strength just to keep himself upright in his chair. "I have plans for you, baby."

Kurt bit his lip to keep from moaning out loud in the back of the classroom as Blaine nibbled playfully on his earlobe. "I can't," he muttered. "I have to go shopping with a couple of my friends. I promised to help them pick out their prom dresses."

Blaine grunted disapprovingly as his teeth dragged down over the back of Kurt's neck. "I think you'd have more fun with me," he said.

Well, duh. _Of course_ he would have more fun with Blaine. But Kurt couldn't just blow off his friends. Mercedes especially would never forgive him if he chose fooling around with Blaine over helping her pick out the perfect pair of strappy sandals to go with her dress. He turned around in his seat to face Blaine, which only made it harder to resist his offer, because damn, that handsome face made him forget every reason he had to say no. The bruises were almost completely gone now, just a slight yellow tinge along the right side of his face, and his eyes were bright and happy as they swept over Kurt's face, drinking him in.

"I know, I know, but prom is only three days away and I really can't allow them to do it by themselves. You don't know the litany of tragic wardrobe choices these girls have made when left to their own devices. They need me."

"I need you too. I want to show you what else you can do with that tongue of yours." Kurt gulped, and Blaine smirked darkly at him, the toe of his shoe rubbing along Kurt's calf and the piercing clicking in a wild rhythm against his teeth as he spoke, his voice low and seductive. "Don't you want to hear me say your name, baby?"

"I – yes," Kurt breathed, his throat suddenly dry as he imagined it, putting his mouth around the thick shape he had felt through Blaine's jeans, the one he had watched Blaine work his own hand over the day before. He licked his lips, then shook himself abruptly. "I can't, though. I'm really sorry."

"Come over after you're done, then," Blaine pleaded.

Well. Kurt supposed he could do that. His dad knew he was shopping with the girls, so even if he were a little late getting home, he could easily explain it away by recounting just how many stores they had to visit to find a dress that he and Rachel could agree on, a task that was sure to be near impossible. Everything she picked out for herself looked like something a ten-year-old would wear when graduating into the next branch of the Girl Scouts.

"I wouldn't be able to make it until late," Kurt warned him. "And even if I did, we'd need to work on your homework."

"I'll finish it before you get there," Blaine promised, leaning close to Kurt as the bell rang, his hazel eyes lingering greedily on his mouth. "And then you can finish me with those pretty pink lips."

Ms. Fox hurried into the room before Kurt had a chance to respond, which was fine, really, since the only sound he'd likely be able to make while thinking about doing – _that_ – to Blaine was something along the lines of a strangled, wanting whine.

"First things first," Ms. Fox called from the front of the classroom, and the noise in the room died down and then came to a halt entirely as everyone got settled and paid attention. "Pass your homework forward – eyes up front, please, Mr. Hummel, thank you – and take out your packets. We're going to talk about sonnets today."

Kurt took Blaine's homework – an analysis of Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" that Kurt had helped him with the night before – and stacked it on top of his own before passing both forward to the girl who sat in front of him. He tried hard to focus on what Ms. Fox was saying, but it was difficult with Blaine indulging in his favorite English class activity – caressing Kurt's skin and whispering in his ear.

"The first eight lines of a sonnet express emotional tension, state a problem or ask a question," Ms. Fox was saying, as Blaine's fingers slipped under the collar of Kurt's shirt and stroked up his neck. Kurt shivered pleasantly and a moment later felt Blaine breathing next to his ear, the smell of his cigarettes sweet and intoxicating, making him dizzy and dazed.

"I can't go a whole day without you, baby, I'll crawl out of my skin," Blaine pleaded in a murmur. "Will you come?"

Kurt sighed, conflicted. He had made these plans with Mercedes and Rachel last week at their sleepover, and he'd feel terrible if he flaked on them now. On the other hand, he knew he'd feel terrible in a different way if he didn't see Blaine at all after school. He'd be anxious and impatient and uneasy until the next time he could run his hands over Blaine's warm skin, press a dozen lingering kisses to his lips, twist his arms around those strong shoulders and dive deep into the fire in his eyes.

"The last six lines resolve the tension or problem, or answer the question," Ms. Fox carried on at the chalkboard, drawing fourteen horizontal lines with her chalk and labeling them.

"Okay," Kurt gave in out of the corner of his mouth, and he could practically _hear_ Blaine smiling victoriously behind him. "I'll force Rachel to buy the first dress that fits her and be there as soon as I can."

"Three sets of four lines – we call them quatrains – have their own rhyming schemes," Ms. Fox said, drawing brackets around the corresponding lines on the board. "And the last two lines are a rhyming couplet that end and summarize the theme of the poem."

"I'll prop the outside door open for you," Blaine whispered, placing a swift kiss behind his ear and then murmuring low and eager, "And I'll be sure to keep the bed warm, too."

Kurt bit his bottom lip once again, barely suppressing a wide smile as Blaine went back to tracing random patterns and lines across the back of his neck.

He didn't learn a thing about sonnets that day.

* * *

Kurt loved his friends. He really did.

But right now, he kind of wanted to murder them both. He was slumped in a chair outside a fitting room door at Goodwill, his head resting heavily in his palm as he watched Rachel's feet step into the hundredth dress she'd tried on since they'd started. Mercedes was in front of the three-way mirror in the center of the dressing room trying on shoes, spinning on the spot and taking a few tentative steps to see how well she could walk in this particular pair. Kurt had been sitting in this same seat for well over an hour, and was almost to the point of fantasizing about having supernatural powers like in that prom movie _Carrie_. Only instead of trapping these girls in an auditorium and watching them burn to death, he would force them to make a freaking decision already and get the hell through the checkout lane so he could go see Blaine.

Rachel opened the door to the fitting room and gave a little twirl in the dress she had on. "So, what do we think?" she asked happily, and as much as Kurt wanted to take her apparent enthusiasm and run with it, convince her to buy the damn dress so he could get on with his night, he couldn't. Not because it was a bad dress. It was lovely, actually. But it was also purple.

"For the last time, Rachel," he sighed with annoyance, "You can't get a purple dress. Mercedes has a monopoly on plum."

"But this one is really more of a lavender," Rachel protested with a pout, but Mercedes piped in dangerously as she slipped off the shoes she'd been trying and tucked them back in their box.

"Rachel Berry, I am already sharing a date with you, do we really have to go to this dance in matching dresses, too?"

Rachel pulled her lips into a thin line and silently ducked back into the dressing room, and if Kurt weren't so anxious to get this whole affair over with he might have been worried about how easily Rachel gave up.

"Speaking of dates," Rachel was saying from behind the door, her voice slightly muffled as she pulled off the purple dress and pulled on another. Kurt held his breath, wondering if she was about to harass him about the crush he'd admitted at her house last weekend. Mercedes, of course, knew all about it by now, but he still wasn't ready to confess his secret fling to Rachel. "I think you're going to have Sam all to yourself, Mercedes."

Kurt's head snapped up out of his palm and he looked around at Mercedes, who was staring back at him with wide, confused eyes.

"Are you seriously going to skip prom just because we won't let you wear a purple dress?" Kurt called through the door, amazed that he could still be surprised by the incredible acts of selfishness Rachel Berry could muster. "That's a tad over-dramatic, even for you."

The door opened again, and now Rachel was standing in front of them in a bright blue, ruffled monstrosity that was doing her no favors. She had a guilty, embarrassed look on her face, and Kurt had a terrible feeling it wasn't just because she resembled a giant wad of cotton candy.

"Actually, no, that's not what I meant," she said, putting her hands on her hips and forcing a determined expression on her face in place of the guilt. "I – um – I ran into Jesse the other day, and he offered to take me to prom to make up for his admittedly atrocious behavior toward me last year."

Kurt was momentarily distracted from his impatience by this shocking piece of news. He could swear he felt his jaw land somewhere in the vicinity of his lap, and judging my Mercedes' silence, she was just as stunned as he was.

"Jesse St. James?" he stammered once the surprise had worn off slightly. "Rachel, are you out of your mind?"

"What? No!" Rachel was getting defensive, her arms now crossed in front of the billowing blue taffeta and her jaw set stubbornly. "He was very sincere and apologetic, okay, and Mercedes and I would have had to sit out so many dances sharing Sam, so I told him he could come."

"Oh, no, you are not making me go alone with Sam," Mercedes insisted. "The whole point was that it wasn't a date, just a way for all of us to get to enjoy the night together. If it's just the two of us it'll be _so_ weird."

Rachel huffed out a sigh, rearranging the giant skirt of the gown in obvious irritation and rolling her eyes. "Fine. Jesse can just tag along, then, okay? We'll go as a group of friends and then no one will be uncomfortable and we'll all have a dance partner for every song."

"Except for me," Kurt deadpanned from his chair. So much for his plans to spend the evening dancing with his friends. Now that the two of them more or less had official dates he would probably spend the whole of the event on the sidelines, watching everyone else have a good time and singlehandedly draining the punch bowl. "And for the record, Rachel, I think bringing Jesse is a huge mistake. We all know he's a jerk and he's been nothing but trouble for you from day one."

He looked to Mercedes, waiting for her to back him up, but instead he was met with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, an expression that clearly said _You're one to talk_.

"You can think what you want," Rachel announced haughtily as she closed the door to the fitting room once again and the blue tent of a dress landed in a heap on the dressing room floor around her feet. "But I really like him, and it's not your place to tell me who I can and can't spend my time with."

Kurt turned to Mercedes again, nodding his head toward the door and silently adopting Rachel's reasoning as his own defense of Blaine. She shook her head disapprovingly, and he shot her his own look.

_So there._

* * *

Kurt was fairly certain it would be a miracle if he made it to Blaine's apartment without getting his very first speeding ticket. He had finally – _finally_ – talked Mercedes into a pair of (fabulous) silver heels and Rachel into a beautiful but still appropriately sweet pink dress, made his final recommendations for hair-dos and -don'ts and dropped both girls off at their houses, and was now driving faster than he'd ever driven before on his way to the Wingate Hotel. Not only was he anxious to see (and make out with) Blaine, but it was now dangerously close to 9 o'clock, and if he took too much longer to get back home, shopping wasn't going to be a good enough excuse. Goodwill closed at nine, and his dad would expect him home shortly after.

His tires squealed as he turned into the hotel's parking lot, and he bolted from the car almost as soon as he had it in park, aiming his key fob over his shoulder to lock it and practically racing to the side door that led to Blaine's hall. The doormat was folded up and jammed between the door and its frame – Blaine had promised to prop it open for him – and he tugged it open and flattened the rug with his boot before taking off for Blaine's room, turning left and then down the hall to room 118.

The door swung open before he'd even had time to knock, and suddenly there was Blaine, looking relieved and impatient and excited and irritated all at once. And of course, as gorgeous as ever.

"Sorry it took forever –" Kurt started.

"What took you so long?" Blaine asked at the same time, and they both stopped talking, just staring at each other on either side of the doorway for a long, silent moment instead, until Blaine had enough and reached for Kurt's wrist to tug him into the room with a sort of growl. "Nevermind. I don't care. Just get in here already."

Kurt had barely set his bag down at the desk when Blaine's hands were at his collar, tugging the knot of his tie loose and yanking it out of his shirt. The buttons were next, the whole row of them undone in mere moments while Kurt's heart raced to catch up with Blaine, who had obviously been sitting here and waiting for him for a long, _long_ time.

"Did you – are you done with your homework?" Kurt asked, attempting some level of professionalism even as Blaine tugged his own shirt off and tossed it to the floor. His waist was still wrapped up, but Kurt thrilled to see the patches of tan skin around the bandage, hardly remembering that he'd asked a question by the time Blaine could answer it.

"Ages ago," he murmured, his hands slipping underneath Kurt's plain undershirt and running greedily across every inch of his torso before twisting in the fabric and lifting it quickly over Kurt's head. "You took so long, baby. I thought you might not be coming."

"Of course I came," Kurt said, unlacing his boots with some difficulty, trying to balance on one foot at a time while Blaine assaulted his jaw with eager kisses. He decided to accept Blaine's assurance that his schoolwork was finished because, come on, this was way more fun than memorizing the Bill of Rights, anyway.

Blaine was mouthing over the skin of his throat, and Kurt felt the tongue piercing stutter against his pulse point as Blaine chuckled darkly into his neck. "Mmm, you did. And now you're going to come again, baby."

"I thought –" Kurt was interrupted by Blaine's mouth, which moved to claim his lips in a heated kiss as he walked them blindly to the bed, where they tumbled down to the mattress and tangled together in a fumbling mass of arms and legs. Blaine broke away to laugh, and Kurt finished his thought with a breathy, gasping giggle. "I thought you wanted me to – I thought I was going to go down on you."

Blaine sobered, his chest rising and falling shallowly and his intense hazel eyes searching Kurt's face, stopping at his flushed, panting mouth and growing darker as they swept across the seam of his lips. He swallowed. "Do you want to?"

Kurt lifted one shoulder in an uncertain shrug. "I don't know what to do, but...I thought I'd try, yeah." Blaine's eyes widened just slightly, and Kurt added in a rush, "If – if you want me to, I mean."

He held his breath, watching one side of Blaine's mouth lift in a cocky smile. "I promised to teach you anything you wanted to try," he said. "So I guess I shouldn't object if you want to suck me off." Blaine put one foot flat on the mattress and pushed himself back on the bed. Kurt swallowed hard as he watched him settle against the headboard and fold his arms behind his head, smirking expectantly at him and waiting. "Do you need help finding my dick, baby, or do you think you can manage that much by yourself?"

Kurt glared at him as he sat on his knees next to Blaine's hips on the bed, then dropped his eyes to the very obvious erection straining against the crotch of his worn jeans. "Found it," he said cheekily, and Blaine gave him a wicked grin.

"Hard to miss, isn't it?" he said in his typically smug tone, but he was breathing a little harshly again when Kurt stretched a hand out to press over the shape in his jeans, his long fingers spreading hesitantly to grope across the thick length, his eyelids suddenly heavy and hard to lift so he could meet Blaine's eyes to see the effect his touch had on him. He shuddered slightly as Kurt easily rubbed up and down with the heel of his hand, and after several slow minutes, urged him on, his voice coming out roughly as he said, "Go ahead, baby. Take it out and I'll tell you what to do with it."

Kurt's hand moved for Blaine's zipper, then froze. His pulse was racing, his blood searing hot in his veins and rushing loudly in his ears. He wanted to do this. He wanted to feel the silky skin of Blaine's cock between his lips, to stroke it into submission with his tongue and, hopefully, make Blaine as crazy as he'd felt the day before while he watched Blaine swallow around him. Unfortunately, all the reasons why not were suddenly clear and in the forefront of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, but...I don't think I can do this yet," Kurt said, taking his hand away and looking sheepishly at Blaine. He expected to see an expression of disappointment or anger on his face, but instead Blaine still looked lustful, if maybe somewhat confused over Kurt's sudden change of heart.

"Do you want another turn, baby?" Blaine asked, pulling Kurt down to the mattress and settling over him. He reached down to undo the button of his jeans and shoved a hand in to grip him firmly. "I can take care of you first, if you want."

"No," Kurt said with some difficulty. Blaine's lips were on his throat and his hand was twisting over his cock, and he was having more than a little trouble slowing him down. He grasped Blaine's wrist with shaky fingers and pulled his rough hand out of his jeans. "Wait, Blaine. _Wait_."

Blaine pulled away from him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kurt panted. "Nothing's wrong. I just – I need to talk to you about something."

"Can't we talk after? I've been waiting for you for hours. I need you, baby."

Kurt sat up a little on the mattress, and Blaine settled back on his knees, facing him with an expression of both anxious concern and impatient lust on his face. "It's kind of important," Kurt said, and Blaine's thick eyebrows knitted together and sank low over his eyes.

"You don't want to do this anymore, do you?" he asked, his eyes clouding over, apparently resigned to rejection. He was already reaching for his t-shirt and sliding his arms through the sleeves, tugging it back over his head, his curls a little wilder than usual after the cotton slipped back over his body and a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Kurt stretched forward to kiss him once, and his heart did a somersault in his chest when he felt Blaine's lips twitch just slightly against his own, as if fighting off a smile. There was still a wariness behind his eyes when Kurt moved back a moment later, but there was something else there, too. A lightness. A tiny spark of hope.

"Of course I do," Kurt assured him softly. "I want to do everything with you. I think. I just – I need to know a couple of things first."

Blaine moved to sit next to him on the bed, leaning back against the pillows and tracing down his arm with his fingers. "Like what?"

Kurt took a deep breath. "Well," he shuffled onto his side and gazed up at Blaine. "You – you've had sex before."

Blaine nodded slowly, suddenly tense.

"With – with several, um – you've had quite a few...partners."

"I thought you didn't want to know about any of that," Blaine said, narrowing his eyes at him, trying to decipher what Kurt's motives were for bringing this topic up.

"I don't. Believe me, this is about the last thing I want to talk about, but I kind of...have to."

"O_kay_," Blaine seemed willing enough, even if his features were still somewhat guarded and suspicious. "Yes, I've had sex with a lot of people."

"How – how many, would you say?" Kurt asked.

Blaine shifted uncomfortably and gave him a long, searching look. It was as if he was trying to guess what Kurt wanted to hear, or maybe just what his reaction would be if he didn't like the answer. "Kurt. A lot."

"Like, how many is _a lot_? Ten? Twenty?"

"I don't think you want to know," Blaine sighed, moving away from him slightly where he was propped up against the headboard. Kurt moved to sit up, too. He scooted closer so that their knees were touching, pointedly not shying away from physical contact even if the topic of conversation was awkward for both of them.

"I do, actually," Kurt told him. "I won't be upset. It just...seems like something I should know before we...go further."

"Okay. Let me put that a different way. I don't know."

"You – you don't know?" Blaine shook his head. "You don't know how many people you've had sex with?" Was it possible for someone to have been with so many people by the time they were seventeen years old that they lost track? Surely not.

But Blaine shrugged his shoulders grimly and pursed his lips into a thin line, and Kurt had to accept that Blaine was, in fact, even more experienced than he'd thought.

"So the number is – it's high." Kurt was doing his best not to sound judgmental, but he couldn't help but feel saddened and sickened and yes, crazily, wildly jealous.

"Yes. Does that change your mind? About me?"

Kurt reached for Blaine's hand, slipping his fingers into Blaine's warm palm, and Blaine held on tightly, a rough thumb sweeping absentmindedly across his knuckles. "Not yet. I've got more questions, though."

Blaine puffed out his cheeks and exhaled loudly, clearly not thrilled that they were talking about this, but he raised his eyebrows expectantly anyway and said, "Ask away, baby."

"Are you – or _were_ you, I guess – careful? I mean, I guess you couldn't call random hook-ups with strangers _careful_, really, but did you, you know, use...protection?"

"You want to be sure you're not going to catch anything if you have sex with me," Blaine nodded with sudden understanding.

Kurt swallowed. He still wasn't sure he was ready to hear about Blaine's past...um..._relationships_. But it would be stupid and reckless of him not to find out. "I'm sorry. I don't want to make you feel bad, I just –"

"No, it's okay. It's smart of you to ask, really," Blaine conceded. "I _have_ been with a lot of people, but I've always used condoms, and I get myself tested every couple of months at the Lima Health Clinic and so far, no problems." Kurt found himself heaving a huge sigh of relief, and Blaine chuckled at him. "Feel better?"

"Yes. That's – that's very responsible," Kurt said, impressed. "For someone who smokes and drinks and regularly skips school in favor of getting in fistfights."

Blaine let out a snort of laughter. "Last time I checked, none of those things make your dick fall off."

"There are STDs that make your dick fall off?" Kurt repeated, wide-eyed and terrified and definitely glad he was asking about all of this, if that was the case.

"I don't know," Blaine shrugged. "Maybe. The point is, I'm not taking any chances."

Kurt gave a weak laugh, relieved for a brief moment. Until another thought occurred to him. "Have you ever – I mean, have you had many guys back here?" he asked, looking around the room and suddenly wondering if he was just the latest in a long line of visitors. Maybe Blaine brought everyone he met back to the hotel. Maybe he'd curled up with a hundred other people right in this very spot.

"To my room?" Blaine clarified, and Kurt stiffened and nodded, fighting the urge to leap from the bed and glare around the room for evidence that he was far from the first person Blaine had held here. "Actually, no."

Kurt looked at him doubtfully. "You don't have to tell me what you think I want to hear –"

"I'm not. This probably won't make you feel much better, but since I've lived here I've never made it past the parking lot at Scandals."

"Oh."

"I – listen," Blaine said nervously, charting the look of shocked distaste on Kurt's face. "It's never been a big deal to me. I just kind of do what I want, and yeah, up until recently that included fucking a lot of guys." Kurt swallowed and blinked, feeling the hot prickle of tears forming behind his eyes as Blaine spoke. "But it's been different since I met you. You – _fuck_ – you're all I think about. I haven't wanted to go near anyone else for weeks now, and that's a first. Trust me."

"Is that going to change as soon as I – you know, give it up?" Kurt asked. He had been wondering about this somewhere in the back of his mind for a while now. If Blaine's interest in him was based solely on the fact that Kurt was innocent. A virgin. A challenge. And if he would wash his hands of him and move on once he'd gotten what he wanted.

"I don't know," Blaine admitted. "This whole _liking someone_ thing is brand new to me."

"So...if we do that – if I have sex with you – it's safe?" Of course, Kurt was referring to his body. He already knew his heart was at risk. But this feeling – the warmth of Blaine's arms around him and the heat in his gaze and the way his stomach twisted in a tight knot when their skin touched – made him think it might be worth it.

"Sure, baby. And besides," Blaine shifted a little to reach into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and slipping a square package from inside. A condom. "I'll be very careful with you."

Kurt stared at the small red envelope in Blaine's hand. "You just carry that around with you everywhere you go? Are you expecting me to have sex with you in the middle of school or something?"

Blaine grinned. "I might get lucky."

"Not in English class you won't," Kurt laughed, and Blaine folded himself over so that he was lying on top of Kurt again, nudging into his neck with his nose and giving his collarbone a playful nip.

"What if I recited one of those really sexy poems by Paco Neruda that you like so much? What would that get me?"

Kurt giggled. "_Pablo_ Neruda.

"Right. Him."

"You'll have to try it sometime and find out," Kurt teased, tugging on Blaine's hair to bring his mouth within reach and then pressing their lips firmly together. Blaine really did smile into the kisses now, pulling away every few seconds to gaze at Kurt's face and just beam at him, until Kurt would get impatient and lean for his lips again, sliding their tongues together and playing with the metal bead in Blaine's mouth for as long as they could go without oxygen.

After several minutes, Blaine slid an arm underneath Kurt and rolled them over, settling Kurt on top of him and resting his arms around the small of his back, staring up at him with an earnest, affectionate gaze. "So, now that I've answered all your questions," he started, and Kurt folded his hands over Blaine's chest, resting his chin on his fingers and listening. "What do you think, baby?"

Kurt could feel himself blushing again, but he forced himself to meet Blaine's eyes and whispered. "I want to. Not now, but...maybe soon."

Blaine smiled softly at him, running his hands out to give his waist a small squeeze and laughing gently when Kurt gasped and wiggled, ticklish. "Then I have some questions for you, too."

"Oh," Kurt said, somewhat surprised. "Well, by all means."

He waited expectantly while Blaine shifted on the mattress, tipping Kurt off of him, then rolling so that they were facing each other on their sides. "How do you want to do it?"

Kurt stared at him blankly, trying to figure out exactly what Blaine was asking him. "What? What do you mean _how_? You're supposed to be teaching me."

Another patient laugh fell past Blaine's lips, his eyes bright with amusement. "I know, baby, and I will. But I have to know what you want first."

"How am I supposed to know what I want?" A small wave of panic was rushing through Kurt again, and he pulled away from Blaine in frustration. He hated feeling so clueless, and he combed his fingers through his hair anxiously, embarrassed about his total lack of experience. His voice was a high, nervous tremble when he spoke again. "You seem to keep forgetting I've never done any of this before."

Blaine grinned, and Kurt was annoyed all over again at how confident this guy could look while Kurt's insides were twisting with painful insecurity. "Okay, okay. Relax. I'm not being clear."

"No, you're not," Kurt agreed irritably, but Blaine wasn't affected in the least by Kurt's suddenly sour mood. He wrapped his arms around Kurt's middle and tugged him close.

"You've thought about it, right?" he asked quietly, his hands pressing Kurt's body into the warmth of his chest, calming him, melting his aggravation into something else entirely in seconds. The heat gathered lower, where his hips were lined up with Blaine's, and he pursed his lips and nodded. Yes, he'd thought about it. Every day and every night since the moment Blaine had first touched him. "You told me you dreamed about it, too."

Kurt nodded again, hot everywhere now, in his cheeks and in his belly and in his groin as some of the more vivid dreams came to mind. "Yeah, I – I did. I do."

"So in these dreams," Blaine started, tracing his fingers up Kurt's spine and staring at him intently. "What are you doing?"

"I'm – what do you mean? They're sex dreams," Kurt swallowed hard, blushing furiously at the admission and because he could suddenly feel the thick shape of Blaine's cock hard and pressing against him. "I'm – we're having sex."

Blaine gave a showy, exasperated sigh and finally painted a very clear picture. "Kurt. Is it my dick in your ass or your dick in mine?"

Kurt's mouth fell open. "Oh. _Oh god_," he groaned, leaning into Blaine's t-shirt and hiding his face, which he was sure was turning a shade of pink as bright as Rachel's prom dress. Blaine chuckled and slid his hands around to hold his face, tipping it to meet his eyes and smirking at his embarrassment.

"No wrong answer, baby," he assured him patiently. "Whatever you want is fine with me."

"Well," Kurt said, reminding himself that he should definitely be able to at least talk about these things with Blaine if he was planning on actually _doing_ them at some point in the near feature. He felt a little like curling into a ball and disappearing, but he forced the rest of his answer out anyway. "Usually you're – it's yours in...in me."

Blaine nodded, smiling and leaning forward to kiss the flush in each of his cheeks. "Okay."

"Is that, I mean, is that what you – how you like it?" Kurt asked shyly, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, his bright, wide eyes flicking back and forth nervously between Blaine's hazel ones.

"I like _you_," Blaine told him with a broad, arrogant grin, and Kurt was pleased to watch the black circles of his pupils blow out and darken his gaze. He slipped his hands into the back of Kurt's jeans and gripped the swell of flesh there aggressively. "And I'd never say no to quality time with _this_ ass."

Kurt felt more heat flood his face and his cock, the pleasantly sharp dig of Blaine's fingers in his skin causing him to gasp and rock forward against Blaine's hips, and suddenly they were both moaning in surprise as they slotted together perfectly through two layers of denim.

"_Ah_ – fuck," Blaine panted, "Do that again."

"What?" Kurt asked, taking a guess before Blaine could answer him and pushing into Blaine again, and he heard a whimper slip past his own lips at the contact.

"_That_," Blaine said, his voice growling and deep. "Jesus, that feels good. Keep going." He dug his fingertips into Kurt's ass again, steering his hips to roll against him and leaning in for Kurt's mouth as their hard-ons dragged against each other. He kissed him deeply, his tongue rushing past Kurt's lips and stroking inside his mouth, and Kurt didn't bother to stop himself from whining into Blaine's throat, completely lost in the push and drag of his cock over Blaine's.

"Should we stop?" Kurt asked after a minute, clutching at Blaine's shoulders and desperately hoping the answer would be no. Not that he didn't still want to learn how to get Blaine off with his mouth, but this felt too damn incredible to quit. "Do you want me to – you know – what you did to me yesterday?"

Blaine pulled away as Kurt tilted his hips again, and whatever he was about to say was lost behind a pleased gasp for air. "No – ah, _good_, baby – is it okay if we – _fuck_ – let's do this instead."

Kurt nodded and chased Blaine's lips, searching for the piercing in Blaine's mouth with his tongue as his hands scrabbled up the back of his shirt, looking for something to hold on to while he rolled his body up again. Blaine's skin was hot and smooth and perfect underneath his fingers, and a second later Blaine had moved back to tug his shirt off all together before pulling Kurt to him again, their bare chests now pressing into each other as their hips found a rhythm. Kurt's head was spinning, overwhelmed by the taste of Blaine and the feel of his dick right up against his own through their jeans.

Blaine's hands were back on his ass, pulling him closer as they rutted against each other, fingers kneading and flexing in the firm muscle. Then all at once he was reaching down between them instead, hastily undoing the button and zipper of Kurt's pants and shoving them down and out of the way. He sat up, making to tug them off completely, but Kurt grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back, kissing and grinding against him again, the friction even better with only the thin cotton of his boxers in the way.

"Good enough," he breathed into Blaine's mouth, a spark running up his spine as Blaine groaned against his lips and fumbled with his own jeans. Kurt rushed to help him push them down, and when the denim was gathered around Blaine's knees Kurt pulled him close again, rolling his hips forward frantically and gripping Blaine's shoulders more tightly than before. He could feel even more now that both of them were only in their boxers, cocks rubbing against each other with so much perfect pressure that he was certain it shouldn't be allowed.

He spread his hands over the muscle of Blaine's back, holding on and anchoring his upper body while his hips pushed rhythmically against Blaine over and over. He felt one of Blaine's rough hands squeezing tight at the smooth flesh of his ass, pushing him forward and helping to steady his pace, slowing him down when he got too eager and sped up too quickly, urging him on whenever he thought he was too tired to keep moving. Blaine's other hand was threaded into his hair, holding his head close and kissing encouragement into his skin as they rocked together._ Just like that, baby. Don't stop. A little harder._

Kurt was burning up, his face nestled between Blaine's cheek and the pillow as he breathed heavily with the effort of thrusting up against Blaine's cock. He blinked the beads of sweat from his eyes and gave a muffled groan as he felt the heat building inside him, too.

"_Blaine_," he panted. "Blaine, I'm – I'm getting close."

"Me too," Blaine licked a wet stripe up his throat and kissed at the hinge of his jaw, the tongue piercing's cool drag over Kurt's blazing skin doing nothing to slow the burn in his stomach. "Wait for me, baby."

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face between Blaine's neck and shoulder, humming in frustrated desperation as he felt his orgasm edge closer with every roll of his hips. He wanted to chase after it, the release and ease of tension he knew was so close, _right there_, but he willed himself to slow down, determined to let Blaine get there with him, to do this right this time.

He was almost _too_ hot now, inhaling and exhaling the same breaths off of Blaine's skin for too many minutes, but when he threw his head back to gasp for cooler air he almost stopped breathing entirely. Blaine met his gaze, and Kurt felt like he might be drowning in the dark, needing pools of his eyes, so close and so open and full of a longing that stirred a profound, happy ache deep inside his chest. Blaine was still holding the back of Kurt's head gently in one hand, and the other slid up to curl around his waist and pull him nearer as they both pushed into each other a little faster, a little harder. Kurt leaned forward to taste his mouth – hungry, desperate – and a second later Blaine was finally growling, "Kurt. Come for me, baby," against his lips. Kurt did, a hard, crashing rush surging through his body as soon as he had permission, the tension snapping in the base of his spine and his arms trembling around Blaine's shoulders with the shock of it when he felt Blaine come, too, a pulsing tremor at his groin where Blaine dragged against him with one last long thrust and then gasped into Kurt's mouth, his name and then a heavy, relieved sigh of hot air.

Kurt was sweating, panting and struggling to catch his breath, but he didn't move, couldn't have if he tried. He was sticky and exhausted and completely content, and after a few moments of recovery, silent except for their heavy, tired breaths as they came down, he shifted away from Blaine slightly, letting the air in the room between their bodies to cool their flushed skin and pull goosebumps up along his arms.

Blaine was grinning at him, a couple of curls drooping across his damp forehead as he propped himself up to appraise Kurt's sweat-slick body. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he said, his voice still low and breathy. "And you – you're really good with your hips."

"Lots of dance rehearsals," Kurt explained with a giggle, beaming as Blaine traced a finger down his side, stopping to give his hip a gentle squeeze and then moving his hand over Kurt's underwear and touching the wet spot with his fingertips, swallowing roughly as he slipped his hand past the waistband and slid his fingers through the white mess.

Kurt wasn't smiling now, instead watching with wide eyes and a somewhat scandalized fascination as Blaine pulled his hand away and lifted two coated fingers to his lips, slipping them into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks around them, sucking them clean with an expression of pure bliss on his dark face.

"_Blaine_," Kurt breathed. "That's...that's filthy."

Blaine slid his fingers out of his mouth, and Kurt stared at them, clear and only wet with his own spit now. He smiled and shook his head, leaning in close and ghosting his lips across Kurt's. "No, baby. You taste incredible. Here..."

Kurt parted his lips, and Blaine caught them in a kiss, pushing into Kurt's mouth and slipping the taste of him between their tongues. Kurt sucked around the metal ball in Blaine's tongue, his heart racing all over again and his stomach twisting itself into a tight knot as he let Blaine kiss sex into his mouth. He never knew it could have a taste before, but it did. Thick and bitter and saline. Strangely wonderful.

When they broke apart, Blaine was grinning darkly at him, looking like he could tell Kurt's head was spinning and his cock was already starting to stir with renewed interest. He placed his hand against Blaine's chest, feeling for his heartbeat for a moment, and when he felt the quick stutter of it under his palm he trailed over the bandage on his abdomen and farther down, stopping at Blaine's own pair of wet boxers and moving to slide his fingers in, wanting to know if Blaine tasted the same as he did. But Blaine's breath hitched up short and he caught Kurt's wrist before he could find out.

"Don't, baby," he said, though it didn't exactly sound like he meant it. "You'll make me want to do everything all over again, and I don't think we have time."

Time.

_Time_. Kurt jerked his wrist up to check his watch, and instantly felt the heat in his belly morph into something closer to nausea. "_Shit_," he muttered, flailing a little in panic and tossing Blaine's arm off of him. "I'm so late. I have to go."

"Can't you stay for a few minutes?" Blaine asked, hooking a leg behind Kurt's knees in an effort to keep him on the bed. "Tell your parents you got a flat tire or something."

Kurt barked out a laugh. "Blaine. My dad's a mechanic. I could change a tire by the time I was ten. There's no way he'd buy that." Blaine frowned in defeat and moved his leg, and Kurt gave him a small smile and ducked to peck him on the lips once before standing up, wriggling his jeans back up over his hips and looking around for his shirts.

Blaine watched him from the mattress, his hazel eyes following him lazily around the room and then raking down over his lean, pale form one more time before it disappeared beneath his undershirt.

"This is the worst part of my day," he said unhappily, sprawling moodily on his stomach and clutching a pillow as if in need of some form of soft comfort as he frowned up at Kurt.

"When I have to go home?"

The sad pout twitched into a playful smirk, and Blaine's voice was considerably lighter as he teased, "When you have to put your clothes back on."

Kurt rolled his eyes and laughed, snapping his dress shirt at Blaine and thwacking him in the side with one of the sleeves. "My dad would have a few questions if I showed up at the door half naked. Sorry."

"Well, for the record, you can show up at _my_ door as naked as you like."

"I don't doubt it," Kurt giggled, tying his tie back on and pulling the knot taut at the base of his throat. "But I hardly think nudity would be conducive to our study schedule."

He glanced over at Blaine as he shrugged his bag back over his shoulder, and his smile faltered as he met Blaine's gaze. It wasn't the happy, teasing expression he'd been expecting. In fact, it was uncharacteristically serious; his dark eyes were shining as they stared up at Kurt's face, open and awed and almost fearfully adoring. Kurt didn't know what to do with Blaine staring at him like that. He didn't want to move or even blink, worried that when he opened his eyes again Blaine would be smirking at him with his usual assured arrogance, and Kurt would wonder if he'd only ever been imagining that Blaine could look at him like he was the most beautiful thing on the face of the earth.

But no, he wasn't imagining anything. Blaine stood silently from the bed and crossed the room to stand in front of him, reaching up to cup Kurt's face gently in both rough hands and staring at him with limitless wonder and amazement. "You like me," he said finally, quietly. It was almost a question, like he wanted to hear Kurt agree with the statement.

"You know I do," Kurt told him, his chest painfully tight as he kept swimming in those hazel pools of astonished affection.

"Will you like me if I'm different?" Blaine asked, his voice pitched higher than usual; a worried, hushed whisper. "Because I can feel myself changing every time I look at you."

Kurt blinked at him, tried to figure out how to answer the strange question without scaring Blaine into retreat with confessions of deeper feelings than Blaine had admitted himself. He was falling for Blaine Anderson and hard, but he didn't know if he was supposed to, or if Blaine wanted him to fall anywhere except into bed with him.

"You're changing me, too," Kurt admitted, and Blaine swallowed thickly and looked even more nervous. "But I think it's a good thing."

"You do?"

Kurt laughed gently. He saw this side of Blaine so seldom – the sweet, uncertain teenage boy that he was underneath the wall of hard indifference – but it was easily his favorite, the one that made his heart melt into a soft, gooey puddle in his chest. "Yeah. I can't remember a time I've felt this happy. Not that – I mean – no pressure or anything. I just...like having something to look forward to."

Blaine dropped his hands from Kurt's cheeks, and for a second Kurt was worried that he'd said too much, that the storm would shift across those warm, open eyes and Blaine would pretend he hadn't been near tears staring into his face mere moments earlier. Instead, Blaine took a step closer and wrapped his arms around Kurt's middle, stepping into his body and embracing him tightly.

Oh. This was a hug. And not the kind of hug that he usually got from Blaine, with heated, wet kisses pressed into his skin in an act of seduction, his arms always pulling or pushing him slightly to get him where he wanted. Up against a wall of lockers. Or on the bed. No. This was just a hug. And even though they'd gotten off together a few times, become familiar with each other's bodies and pressed their lips to almost every hidden inch of skin, it was by far the most intimate touch they'd shared. Kurt lifted his arms and draped them over Blaine's shoulders, then, pressing his cheek right up against Blaine's ear and leaning into him. Blaine sucked in a shaky, relieved lungful of air against his neck, breathing him in one more time and squeezing hard for just a few more seconds before quickly letting go, taking several steps away and shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I guess you should go," Blaine said uncomfortably, as if he'd lost himself for a moment and now wasn't sure how he was supposed to be acting, and as much as Kurt wanted to stay and figure out what to make of Blaine's obvious confliction, he couldn't argue. It was nearing 10 o'clock, and he was going to have to spend the car ride home thinking up an excuse for being late as it was.

"Yeah," he agreed, slipping his feet back into his boots and doing up the laces while Blaine watched him silently. "Thanks for – for having me over," he said awkwardly as he turned the door handle to leave.

"Kurt?" Blaine said suddenly, and he paused in the doorway, looking back at Blaine, watching as his mouth fell open and closed without speaking, until finally, "See you tomorrow."

Kurt gave him a crooked smile. "Can't wait," he said, watching as a grin took its rightful place on Blaine's face and then turning to walk out the door, wondering if he was leaving more and more of his heart behind in that room each time he left it, and if it would be safe there.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Happy New Year everyone! Since this is by far my favorite holiday I figured I'd go ahead and hurry this one along in celebration. One last chapter to devour as we wrap up 2012. Hope you all enjoy it, and as always thank you so much for reading and for your reviews. They mean the world to me. xo

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**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 10**

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There were only two pages left in _The Outsiders_.

He was finally going to finish this stupid book – well, he wouldn't necessarily call it stupid anymore; he sort of liked it, actually – in a matter of minutes, and then he could get to work on something else.

Kurt, for example.

Blaine looked up from the page he was reading and stole another glance at him. He was working on his own projects at the foot of the bed, frustratingly appealing in just his undershirt – Blaine had at least managed to strip him of the vest and tie before Kurt had barked that they had to get their work done first – and a pair of typically tight skinny jeans. He was stretched out on his stomach, his knees bent behind him and his long feet crossed over each other in the air. His back was arched slightly and his shoulders were drawn together to hold himself up over his history notes, the lithe muscles just discernible underneath the thin cotton of his shirt. A little frown of concentration pulled at the corners of his soft, pink lips and the tiniest of creases was etched between his eyebrows as he studied.

He was fucking hot.

Blaine shook himself and went back to the book. Almost done. Two more pages and he could look as much as he liked. He could do more than look. He could touch and taste. Lick. Stroke. Bite. Whatever it took to draw that sweet chorus of sounds from Kurt's mouth; the ones he made every time Blaine put his tongue to work on his body, like he was being tortured and loving every minute of it.

Fuck. He had to stop thinking about that. Just for a few more minutes. He shook himself again and focused on the words in front of him:

"_Suddenly it wasn't only a personal thing to me. I could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. Hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better. I could see boys going down under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldn't believe you if you did."_

His gaze was drawn away from the novel again when Kurt suddenly moved, turning his neck to each side, apparently stiff from sprawling in the same position for so long. Blaine felt his chest constrict and his pulse quicken as he watched the long, pale column stretch and flex, saw his throat tighten and relax as he swallowed. Kurt must have felt him staring, because he turned and gave him a small smile, soft but almost scolding. He dropped his eyes to the book in Blaine's hand and nodded, silently telling him to get back to his reading before turning and scribbling more notes on the paper in front of him, the corners of his mouth tugging upward now, as if he knew Blaine was still watching him.

S. E. Hinton was right, Blaine thought, as his eyes lingered on the loose strands of hair that fell across Kurt's forehead while he read. There _was_ good in the world. He believed that now. He believed in the possibility of waking up in the morning and feeling something other than resolved despair. Lately, his step was lighter than it had been in two years as he walked to school every day, knowing that Kurt's brilliant blue eyes would be waiting to see him. Kurt looked at him like he was interesting and wonderful, gave up his nights to help him study. He asked him how he was feeling, tugged his shirt up to check on his bruises and re-wrapped them when the bandage looked too worn or loose. He listened when Blaine talked like he could sit and hear the sound of his voice happily for days on end. Yes. There were good things – good _people_ – in this world, and he had found the very best of all of them. He was sure of it.

He was also sure that it couldn't last. He couldn't hold on to Kurt. He was _too_ good. Too beautiful. Too perfect. This thing that they had was fun, but fleeting. Either Blaine would get restless or Kurt would get wise, and that would be that. And if he, like all the boys watching sunsets and looking at stars in his book, ached for something better, something more real, something or someone he could keep close to him always, so that he would never have to feel that sharp stab of loneliness again in his life, well, too bad. He would get over it eventually. There would be other places. Other boys.

Of course, there was no harm in enjoying this particular one for a little while. Even if he was still entirely uncomfortable with the things Kurt made him _want_. Not sex. He was used to wanting that, and getting it, too. But the rest of it; Christ, it made him nervous. He wanted to hold Kurt's hand. Sit next to him at lunch. Carry his goddamn books to class. It was fucking pathetic.

So he ignored those strange urges, settling instead for acting on the ones he understood. He let his eyes wander up and down the long line of Kurt when he spotted him in the hallways between classes. Stared openly at his ass when he bent down to tie a shoelace. Slipped his fingers underneath his shirt to touch his skin whenever they were close to each other. Thrilled in the tinge of pink that painted his cheeks when Blaine told him everything he wanted to do to him once school was over and they got back to his room.

It was getting harder and harder to make Kurt blush, though, Blaine had noticed. They had only been fooling around in earnest for four days now, but the shy, unsure boy he had first seduced in the locker room was gaining confidence very quickly. Today, for example, Blaine had leaned across his desk in English class as usual and whispered, "I'm so thirsty for you, baby. I only got a taste last night. Tonight I'm going to drink you 'til you're fucking dry." And he'd put his hand to the back of Kurt's neck, waiting for the crawl of heat to spread underneath his fingers.

But this time it hadn't come. Instead, Kurt had discreetly turned in his seat and eyed him with a playful show of arrogance, then, "I think your mouth might be too busy shouting my name for that."

Blaine had leaned back and blinked in shock, watching with impressed astonishment as Kurt smirked at him before facing Ms. Fox and the chalkboard again. He had thought it was Kurt's shyness and innocence that drew him so strongly, made him want to teach him things and rough him up a bit, show him what he'd been missing in all his virginal timidity. And he supposed to a certain extent, that _was_ appealing. But one sexy, confident comeback had made his hormones roar in his blood in a way they hadn't in ages.

He hadn't managed to get rid of his smile (or his hard-on) for the rest of the class.

And now he was almost certain Kurt was teasing again. He lifted his pen from the page he'd been writing on and stuck the cap in his mouth, chewing on it distractedly as his eyes scanned the pages of his history book, his tongue wiggling back and forth in his mouth and the pen clicking and clacking against his teeth, and there was just the slightest hint of a grin on his face as he did it, as if he was well aware that the sight of his lips practically fellating an inanimate object was making it impossible for Blaine to read.

Kurt closed his lips around the pen and sucked it farther into his mouth, and okay, he was definitely doing that on purpose.

Fuck it. He could finish reading after Kurt went home. Right now he just wanted to pin Kurt to the bed and move with him; to ditch the studying for a while and spend some time learning Kurt's curves and angles instead.

He set the novel down on the nightstand and shuffled toward Kurt on the mattress. Kurt looked up immediately when he felt the bed move, the pen still poised between his lips, an expression of wary intrigue on his fine features. Blaine took the pen from his hand, leaving Kurt to stare at him open-mouthed and watch as he threw it between the pages of the textbook in front of him and snapped it shut before tossing it to the floor. He ducked down for a kiss, slipping his tongue past Kurt's parted lips before he had a chance to protest, and dragged his new piercing along the roof of his mouth, trying to coax one of those high, breathless gasps from his lungs.

It worked, but only for a moment. Almost as soon as Kurt seemed to give in, he was pulling away and holding Blaine at a suitable distance, his palms flat against his chest.

"Did you finish the book?" Kurt asked him, looking like he didn't much care either way, like he was all too ready to forget all about history and attend to other matters. Like kissing. Or with any luck, blowjobs.

As tempted as he was to lie, just to make this a little bit easier on himself, Blaine decided on honesty. "No."

"Then whatever it is you have in mind will have to wait," Kurt said with attempted firmness, but it was too late. Blaine had heard the way his voice wavered, had watched his eyes sweep with more than passing interest along Blaine's body, and saw him swallow thickly when his gaze stopped at the front of his jeans, which were pulling tight and showing just how little he was willing to wait to get his hands on the perfect boy in his bed.

"Don't be a tease, Hummel. You know exactly what you were doing," Blaine took hold of Kurt's wrist and tugged on him gently, scooping an arm underneath him and turning him so that he was lying on his back instead. There. That was better. Kurt was gazing up at him, and his eyes had already gone that deep ocean blue that meant he wanted Blaine and badly.

"I don't know what you mean," Kurt said coyly, and Blaine bit back a grin as he opened Kurt's jeans and wriggled them down to his thighs. Kurt showed no signs of reluctance, lifting his hips up to help him along and then kicking a bit until the denim fell of his legs completely. Blaine had to remind himself to breathe as he ran his fingers up through the light hair that grew over Kurt's pale limbs, tight and strong from all the dancing around he got up to in that singing club.

"You were making me very jealous of that ink pen," Blaine said, and Kurt grinned guiltily as he stretched his arms overhead. Blaine took the hint, rucking his shirt up over his sides and tugging it off completely when Kurt sat up enough to lift his shoulders from the bed.

Kurt tried to justify his little act of seduction while Blaine pulled him to the edge of the mattress and knelt between his knees. "Well you – _mmph_ – you were taking too long. I have to leave in an hour."

Blaine glanced at the clock on the bedside table and frowned up at Kurt moodily. "We would have had longer if you had skipped that practice thing."

"I can't just skip Glee," Kurt gave him a grim smile before reaching down to yank at the fabric of Blaine's shirt, too, until it joined Kurt's on the floor. He threaded his fingers into Blaine's wild curls, rubbing tiny circles into his scalp. "Nationals is only two weeks away, and if you knew the crazed ferocity with which we all want to win, you would understand I made the right decision. Rachel Berry would have followed me here and kicked down your door if I missed a rehearsal."

Well, Rachel Berry and the rest of that dumb club could fuck off, Blaine thought to himself. He didn't have much time with Kurt, probably another few weeks or a month at most, and he didn't feel like sharing. But he shook off his bad temper, slipping his fingertips between Kurt's hips and the waistband of his boxer-briefs and getting back to the task at hand. This is exactly what he wanted. Kurt naked. Kurt panting and pulling his hair. Kurt coming in his mouth.

But apparently it wasn't what he was going to get.

"No, hey," Kurt protested suddenly, reaching for Blaine's hands where they were still tugging at his underwear and clasping him by the wrists. "Come back up here."

Blaine was confused, but he let himself be pulled back to the mattress anyway, sitting next to Kurt on the bed and still petting at the front of his boxers, feeling his cock fill and grow hard against his palm. He tried again to tug the cotton out of his way, but Kurt reached down and stopped him.

"Wait."

He collapsed in frustration against Kurt's neck, sighing and growling into his skin, lapping at his pulse point with his tongue, taking care to drag his piercing right to the sensitive spot behind Kurt's ear and press in, pleased when this move drew a shudder up Kurt's spine and a small whine from his lips. _God_, that sound, those lips.

"Please tell me you don't have more questions," he groaned, hoping that this wasn't going to turn into another uncomfortable discussion of his past sexual encounters. He would prefer to focus on new ones. The ones he (hopefully) would have with Kurt any minute now. "I just want to watch you come, baby." He kissed Kurt's mouth before he could say anything at all, and then let himself be distracted by Kurt's bare chest, wondering what it would look like marked up and bruised from his kisses.

"I – I do have one – uh, one question, actually," Kurt managed to stammer between wet, open-mouthed presses of lips, using Blaine's fixation on his collarbone as an opportunity to speak. Blaine was secretly proud that he'd turned the newly confident, assured Kurt Hummel back into a shaky, stuttering entity of lust with just a few quick strokes of his tongue.

"What's that, baby?" Blaine asked, moving back to Kurt's mouth, sucking his lower lip between his own and swiping over it with his tongue, the breathless moan that Kurt released in response going straight to his already achingly hard cock. He ducked to kiss his throat again, nibbling gently on the taut stretch of skin at the base of his neck. Jesus fucking Christ, this boy tasted good.

"How – _fuck_ – will you teach me how to do it? A – a blowjob, I mean?" Kurt was suddenly nervous again, and while Blaine was still hot and hard as hell, he couldn't stop the tiny flutter in his chest as he looked into Kurt's wide, earnest eyes, dark with need and flicking with uncertainty between his own. He was so sweet, so eager to learn. "It felt so good when you did it. I just – I want to make you feel that way, too." Kurt was blushing again, and Blaine leaned to press his cheek to Kurt's, to feel the warmth of his unease for a moment before he soothed it away.

He grinned at Kurt's anxious expression, moving to whisper in his ear and teasing, "It looked like you knew what you were doing with your pen a few minutes ago."

Kurt groaned and gave his chest a light shove. "That was just to get your attention. When it comes to the actual act I'm rather clueless, as you're well aware."

Blaine thought for a moment. He'd never had to explain this to anyone before. He tried to remember exactly how he had learned to suck someone off, but he didn't recall receiving any actual instruction. He'd just sort of figured it out as he went along. The best way he could think to teach Kurt this was to, well, demonstrate.

He leaned in and kissed Kurt's lips one more time, smiling into it and then pulling away quickly, dropping to his knees on the floor again and making quick work of stripping the last offending article of clothing from the perfect body in front of him, ignoring Kurt's feeble protests while he slipped the boxers off past his ankles. He trailed his hands lightly up to the back of his calves, massaging them and spreading them a little wider, making more room for himself between Kurt's knees.

"But – wait, Blaine, I – I really want to try it," Kurt said breathlessly, his hands in Blaine's hair again, sort of pulling and pushing at the same time, apparently only half-committed to resisting. His cock was flushed dark and hard against his stomach, already wet at the tip, and Blaine's mouth watered at the sight of it.

"Believe me, baby, I really want you to, too," Blaine promised. Of course he did. He hardly thought about anything else when he watched those pretty lips move than what they would feel like on his cock. "But how about you let me show you how it's done one more time? And then you can practice as much as you like."

That was all the convincing Kurt needed. He nodded, giving in and rolling his head back on his shoulders as Blaine kissed the inside of each thigh, exhaling heavily against the firm, smooth skin, his hand reaching to pump Kurt's cock lazily while his eyes stayed trained on his face, pupils blown, lips parted and gasping, flush high in his cheeks. Fuck. He was beautiful. His breaths were loud and shallow, his muscles trembling underneath his palms, his flawless form so bare and responsive to every single touch. It was enough to make Blaine crazy.

He leaned forward and kissed along Kurt's length once, twice, listening to the slight hitch in his breathing and watching as a tremor traveled through Kurt's body, a shiver of want and need that Blaine felt, too, down to his very bones.

"Ready?" he asked, just to make sure. He hardly wanted a repeat of the first time they had tried this, when Kurt had been so overwhelmed that he'd come after only a few seconds. He wanted it to be perfect. He wanted _everything_ to be perfect for Kurt. No rush and no shame and no regrets.

Kurt gave a jerky nod of encouragement, and Blaine sank down over him, relaxing his throat to take as much of his cock in as he could. Kurt's dick was smooth and long – long enough that Blaine had to wrap his hand around the base while he sucked, sure to stimulate every inch all at once, pleased when Kurt's knees reflexively closed tight around him to keep him close. He wrapped one arm around Kurt's leg to hold him still, grasping the fine, soft skin there and feeling the muscles twitch and jump underneath his fingers. Blaine kept his eyes open as he slid his lips wetly over Kurt's length, lost in not only the taste and feel of him inside his mouth, but in the soft patch of dark hair between his legs, in the way his flat stomach moved with each shaky, shallow breath, in the shift of his balls drawing up tighter to his body.

He felt Kurt's hands scratching through his hair again, hesitance losing out to need as Blaine moved his tongue piercing in a slick, rolling rhythm against the sensitive vein underneath and then in a quick, sweeping circle around the head. He took more of Kurt's cock in between each stroke of his tongue, taking him deeper and sucking the taste of him into his mouth, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind which of them was enjoying this more. He knew he was good at this – Kurt was already a panting wreck above him, his knees shaking where they were pressed against Blaine's shoulders – but Kurt tasted _incredible_, precome leaking onto his tongue and promising an even more delicious end.

Blaine knew it was coming soon, too. Kurt's hips were stuttering a little, thrusting forward just slightly to meet Blaine's motion, pushing deeper into his mouth and gasping when Blaine twisted his wrist at the base and pulled his lips tighter around his length, sucking and stroking, and then, when he heard Kurt's ragged cry and felt the pulsing spasm between his lips, swallowing through Kurt's orgasm and staring up into his eyes, wide and bright and shocked with pleasure. Kurt tasted almost as good as he looked when he came, and Blaine was still licking greedily even as he felt Kurt's hands go slack in his hair and his cock start to soften in his mouth.

When he finally let go with a slick, wet sound that went straight to his own dick, still hard and untended to in his jeans, he watched with a rush of pride as Kurt slumped back on the mattress, sucking in loud, quick breaths and still vibrating from his release. Blaine had reduced many guys to this level of gasping mess before now, and a few had done the same to him, but there was something especially impressive to him about Kurt's complete surrender of immaculate, rigid composure for the chaos of need and want fulfilled. He couldn't stop his chest from swelling happily as he climbed back up to the bed beside Kurt and took in the wide, dopey grin on his face, kissing the corners of it and listening as it turned into that chiming giggle he liked so much.

"How was that, baby?" He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Kurt say it.

"Amazing. You're – it's always amazing."

Blaine gave him a long, slow kiss, shivering slightly when Kurt hummed into his lips. Those piercing blue eyes were half-closed, and a dreamy smile rested on his mouth. He seemed lazy and sated, just sort of lying still and hanging his mouth open to let Blaine's tongue roll idly through it, making contented little mewls of enjoyment each time Blaine's tongue ring tapped against his teeth, and softly running his hands up and down Blaine's arms, squeezing an elbow gently or walking his fingers over his shoulders as they kissed.

This was new to Blaine. These easy, comfortable moments of afterglow, just lying together after getting Kurt off. With anyone else, he would have been in a hurry, impatient for his own orgasm, his own release. But with Kurt it was different. God, with Kurt _everything_ was different. He didn't mind just resting over Kurt's warm, spent body, his hand tracing indistinct patterns across his smooth stomach and cupping the curve of his hipbones in his palm, his eyes skipping over his body, finding all the places his work had brought a rush of pink to his gleaming white skin, his mouth claiming his parted, gasping lips over and over again until he felt dizzy and drunk.

"I want to try now," Kurt said suddenly, still a little breathless from kissing as he nudged Blaine off of him and rolled onto his side, breaking the calm spell that had settled over them. He trailed his long, slender fingers down Blaine's torso and came to rest just above his jeans, skirting them through the faint line of dark hair that led down from his navel. Blaine watched as a flash of pink darted out to wet his kiss-swollen lips, and suddenly his blood was running hot and electric through his veins again, and he realized he really was incredibly anxious to let Kurt try his hand – or, he supposed, his mouth – at giving head.

"You don't have to," Blaine told him, and hello, where the fuck did that come from? He would never have said that to someone offering him sexual favors a month ago, and he was a little irritated with himself for saying it now, too. The last thing he wanted to do was discourage Kurt from sucking his dick.

He hadn't, apparently. "I _want_ to," Kurt insisted, moving his hand lower to palm at Blaine's erection through his jeans. "Please. Tell me how."

Blaine stared at him, fascinated by how quickly he seemed to be recovering from what Blaine flattered himself was a pretty spectacular ten minutes at the mercy of his tongue. His eyes were dark and lustful again already, a warm flush spread across his chest, and his hand was squeezing desperately at the solid bulge in his pants, and Blaine was pretty sure that was Kurt's dick again already, firm and full and pressing against his hip.

"Tell me what you liked," Blaine prompted, and Kurt paused to gaze down at him, eyes hooded and hazy, but bright with something that could only be happiness.

"What I liked?" Kurt repeated, sounding a little puzzled as he resumed his grip on Blaine's dick, stretching his fingers wide and dragging them slowly up and down, just like Blaine had showed him the first time they fooled around. Fuck, it was great, too, like his hands had been doing this for way longer than just a handful of days. "About – about you blowing me?"

"Yeah, baby, tell me what felt good."

"Everything."

Blaine laughed, stretched up to kiss him. "Kurt. Details."

"Okay," Kurt sighed, licking his lips and then chewing on them a little in concentration, his hand still moving slowly over Blaine's hard-on, and Blaine had to work very hard to hear what Kurt was saying while he touched him like that. Kurts eyes shuttered closed, and that crease showed up between his eyebrows again as he pulled all of his favorite sensations to mind. "It's hot. And wet. And you – you sort of do this swirling thing with your tongue. And your hand moves on me, too. Sometimes with your mouth and sometimes against it, but always - always firm. Gentle, too, I guess. And every time I feel like it can't get tighter it does, and you suck a little harder, a little more, until I can't even really tell all the things that I'm feeling, it's so - so much at once. And then I'm coming but it's still not over. Your tongue still moves on me and your lips are so lovely, just this - this perfect shade of red that matches how hot I feel all the way down to my toes." Kurt's eyes blinked open and he looked shyly at Blaine, shrugging one shoulder and smiling crookedly. "That's - that's the best way I know to describe it."

Blaine stared. That was exactly it. That was exactly what he wanted Kurt to do to him. His jeans felt more uncomfortable than ever as the words rushed with urgency in his veins and south, making him achingly hard and desperate under Kurt's hand, still stroking over him. "That's it," Blaine swept a loose lock of hair back from Kurt's forehead and grinned at him, trying to keep his voice calm, patient. "That's how you do it."

Kurt looked stunned, then possibly a little alarmed, his mouth hanging open slightly and his blue eyes going wide. "I – I have to do all of that? Wow, okay. That – it seems like it would be kind of hard."

"It's not," Blaine assured him, shrugging nonchalantly and rubbing the small of Kurt's back, hoping to relax him and ease his mind. "You don't have to try all of that at once. Just take your time. And if at any point you want to stop, you can."

There he went again. Saying stupid things. He pulled his lips into a line and told himself to shut the fuck up and let Kurt do whatever he wanted, since what he wanted involved taking Blaine's cock in his mouth.

Kurt wiggled out of his arms and sat up, moving to sit across Blaine's lap on his knees, one leg on either side of his hips. He was breathing deeply and looking with resolute determination at the crotch of Blaine's jeans, as if staring down a particularly challenging obstacle that he was hell-bent on overcoming. The stubborn, lustful, somewhat scared expression on his face was somehow hilarious and adorable and hot all at once, and Blaine was caught between the urge to laugh at him and an almost instinctual itch to grip the back of his neck and shove him down to his cock. In the past, he would have done it without even thinking, but today he forced himself to wait, to let Kurt move at his own pace.

Even if his pace was maddeningly slow.

The lithe fingers were shaking when they reached to undo the button, even though Kurt had undressed him before, had seen him before. Blaine guessed he was just a little more nervous than the other times because this would be something new, a first for him, and then he stopped thinking about that, because the thought that Kurt was going to do this to _him_ for the first time sent a bolt of heat down his spine, and he had to clench his fists at his sides to keep from wrenching his pants open and hurrying things along.

The zipper was down now, too, and Kurt was squaring his shoulders and breathing deeply, apparently psyching himself up for this new challenge, and Blaine couldn't help himself. He had to say one more stupid thing, just to make sure this was really what Kurt wanted.

"Kurt. You know you don't have to. If you want to wait, or if you just want me to do these things to you, that's - that's okay." He really, _really_ hoped that Kurt didn't want either of those things, actually, because he was about to go absolutely insane from wanting this boy so badly, but he also really didn't want to push him into something he wasn't ready for.

"I want to, Blaine. I promise." Kurt was relaxing, even looking a little amused as he reassured him, pulling his lips into his mouth to moisten them and reaching down to free Blaine's cock from his underwear. Blaine sighed with relief, finally free from the tight denim and surrounded by the warmth and friction of Kurt's fingers, moving over him dryly, tentatively. And then Kurt was leaning down, his lips were parting, and. _Oh_. His tongue was dragging in a wet line up from the base all the way to the tip, pausing to lick at the wet spot of precome and then moving away to just stare, his cheeks pulling in just slightly as he moved his tongue inside his mouth, apparently taking a moment to taste him. Blaine's stomach twisted and heated up as he watched Kurt's eyes darken and deepen, and then he was tipping forward again, opening his mouth and surrounding his cock with the tight, wet, heat he knew so well, had spent so many hours exploring with his own tongue.

"Fuck, that's - good, baby," Blaine's hands moved to hold onto Kurt's shoulders; lightly, with almost no pressure, just to steady himself and touch more of Kurt than he already was. Kurt was moving over him slowly, getting a feel for the thickness, the stretch of his lips around Blaine's dick, and he was breathing in a sort of determined rhythm through his nose, in and out with every bob forward and pull back.

The blue of his eyes flashed up to look at Blaine's face, as if checking to see if he was doing everything right so far, and fuck, _yes_, he was. Blaine was too lost in the wet slide to do much enouraging, but his hips jolted up as Kurt's tongue moved in its first tentative circle around the head, and Kurt backed up a little in surprise.

"Shit, sorry," Blaine gasped out, and that was a first, too, apologizing for his own impulses for the sake of his partner's comfort. "You might want to - to hold me down." He guided Kurt's hands to his hips, and groaned aloud as Kurt pressed some of his weight into him to keep him still on the bed, his tongue never completely stilling on his cock.

His eyes were restlessly taking in the perfect sight in front of him. Kurt's hair was falling down over his forehead, a loose strand or two hanging past his eyes as he lowered himself again and again to take Blaine deep past the pretty pink of his lips. He was still naked, too, his bare ass lifted up in the air a little and his back on display behind him, smooth and pale and beautiful, a light sheen of sweat glistening over lean muscle and bones. His biceps were there, firm and flexed as his arms held Blaine's body down on the mattress, and if he leaned a certain way, tilted his neck on the pillow and stared down just _there_, he could see his cock, flushed and hard again and resting against his trim, flat stomach.

Add to this vision the sight of his deep, lust-blown blue eyes darting up to watch him after every few strokes of his tongue, gleaming a little in satisfaction when they took in Blaine's heaving chest, the color that flooded his face, and the way he bit his lip to keep from moaning shamelessly with each roll of Kurt's tongue, and it was too much. He couldn't keep looking at him, or this was going to be over very fast; far too soon, considering how long he'd been imagining this very moment. How long he'd been waiting for it.

He closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Not too far, just a week or two away, maybe, when he might get to feel the tight heat of that ass surrounding him, clenching down and squeezing around him until he was pulsing and aching from its grip. It was going to feel so fucking fantastic, he just knew it. It would feel...it would feel...

A lot like this, probably. He opened his eyes again, stared down at Kurt through his eyelashes, moving on his cock at a quick but steady pace now, brow furrowed in concentration, looking almost as serious and studious as he had earlier, bent over his history notes with that pen in his mouth.

Except now it was Blaine sinking past those lips, and fuck, he could not believe he was coming undone under the tongue of a virgin, but yes, that was exactly what was happening. Kurt was tracing every ridge and vein with a kind of methodic thoroughness, and Blaine could feel the heat gathering at the base of his spine as Kurt's fingernails dug slightly into the taut stretch of skin over his hips. It was humming low in his belly, burning hotter every time Kurt's mouth sank down and his lips met the soft, silky skin at the base of his cock, and then it was right there, just seconds away, and Blaine squeezed his hands around Kurt's shoulders in warning.

"Kurt," he gasped. "Kurt, I'm gonna come, you can - you should pull off now. Finish me with your hand."

Kurt didn't move, or rather, didn't stop moving, instead holding on tighter to Blaine's hips and pushing harder against his cock with his tongue, and Blaine might have thought he hadn't heard him if he could have thought anything at all with the slick pressure working him so close to the edge. But then Kurt's eyes flashed again, staring at him from under a soft fan of lashes and clearly asking Blaine to just let go, let him do this thing properly, please and thank you.

It was only a second later that the fuse finally blew in his veins, flaring out and setting his limbs on fucking fire with pleasure, and he came harder than he ever had in his entire goddamn life, forcing his eyes open to watch Kurt take it and then feeling like he might be able to come a second time, immediately, just watching Kurt's wide, surprised eyes as he pulsed in his mouth, feeling the small tug of suction on his already throbbing dick as Kurt swallowed hard and moved his tongue up along his length to catch more. He pulled off rather quickly, while the last waves were still coursing through Blaine's body, looking stunned but pleased and a little bit like he'd just run a mile, breathing hard and flushed red with exertion.

Kurt laughed, then, not from mirth or amusement, exactly, but more like he was proud of himself and relieved and happy, and then Blaine was laughing gently, too, because there was a line of come on his chin.

"If – if that was your first try, I can't even imagine how good you're going to be once you really get the hang of it," Blaine said, hearing the hoarseness in his own voice and struggling to take in a proper lungful of air, because he was pretty sure oxygen was essential if he was going to go on living. Not that he really needed to after that.

"That was – that was okay then?" Kurt asked, adorably hopeful and uncertain as his eyes scanned Blaine's face quickly, trying to read every flicker of motion on his features, looking for approval or some kind of sign that his first attempt at oral sex was at least not a colossal failure.

"God, Kurt, _yes_," Blaine said, lifting still tingling arms to pull Kurt down to the bed with him, swiping his thumb along his messy chin and curling his arms around the slim, pale shoulders to clutch him close to his side. And Jesus, _this_, the way Kurt's lithe, warm body fit with his own, it was almost better than sex. It made his pulse beat and thrum in a heavy, thumping rhythm inside him in a way he had never felt in his life, and he closed his eyes for a moment, just listening, feeling. "You are just...the most perfect thing," he whispered against Kurt's temple, placing a sound, sincere kiss there and smiling when he felt Kurt shiver in his arms.

He opened his eyes again. Kurt was looking at him with complete and serene adoration, something of a light in his expression as he cupped his own cheek and asked, "Does your jaw always hurt when you do that?"

Blaine laughed. "Yeah, a little," he smirked apologetically. "It might get better as you get used to it. You know, if you feel like you might want to do it again sometime."

Kurt giggled, too. "I do. Yeah, I - I really do."

Blaine didn't know how what to do about the fire smoldering in his chest, the embers of something lovely and warm but entirely unfamiliar and confusing glowing deep inside of him. Was he supposed to feel this...happy?

"Do you want a drink?" he offered suddenly, halfway looking for an excuse to leave the bed and pull himself together, but Kurt shook his head, bringing his fingers up to touch his own lips, a sweet, tentative smile resting behind them and his eyes crinkled up at the corners. Oh, man, it hurt Blaine's heart to look at that face, that soft, perfect expression that he was pretty sure was there because of him. He kept talking, mostly to distract himself from the surge of warm affection in his chest but also kind of just wanting to make sure Kurt stayed as happy as he looked right now. "I don't mean vodka, this time. I can get you a glass of water if you're...thirsty."

Fuck, he sounded like an idiot, babbling about beverages while Kurt was sitting there naked and beaming and fuck, he was the cutest thing in the world, and Blaine almost opened his mouth and started talking again just to find out if he could remember how, what with this precious creature gazing at him like he was anything as remotely splendid as he was, which was impossible, really, when Kurt mercifully saved him from his runaway train of aimless, ambling thoughts.

"No, I just..." Kurt trailed off momentarily, as if he hadn't been quite sure where that sentence was headed when he started it. Blaine could definitely relate, at the moment. He recovered quickly, though. "I just want to taste you for a while longer."

What? Oh, right. Blaine had offered him a drink. Jesus, he couldn't think straight or even keep track of what was happening from one moment to the next. He was too enthralled with how flawless this boy was and how warm and soft he felt in his arms.

But if he stayed here, pressing into Kurt's pale, beautiful skin, breathing in the sweet scent of him, staring into his smiling, brilliant blue eyes, he was going to do something stupid. He was going to cry. Or start counting the freckles on his nose. Or ask him to never, ever leave.

"I should...finish that book," he said abruptly, letting go of Kurt and making to sit up, hoping that homework would serve as a sufficient distraction from all the strange things he was feeling, the things that were about thirty seconds and one more kiss from spilling from his lips and ruining everything.

He didn't get very far, though. Kurt kept his arms around his waist, tight enough to hurt a little, the bruises on his ribcage still tender and sore underneath the bandage. And then he was draping his leg across Blaine's and that sweet sleepy smile was spreading over his face, broad enough to show his dimples, and okay, suddenly he didn't really feel much like moving anyway.

"Read right here. I won't bother you," Kurt promised quietly, nestling his head between Blaine's neck and shoulder, close, so close that Blaine could turn and bury his nose in that swoop of chestnut hair if he wanted to. And he did want to.

Instead he stretched for the book on the nightstand and opened it across his chest, letting Kurt stay pressed along his side but still determined not to give in to the overwhelming desire to kiss confessions of warm, deep feelings over Kurt's perfect lips. He told himself to snap out of it, to stop staring at Kurt like he hung the goddamn moon. Or like he _was_ the moon, a source of light in an otherwise black and hopeless night. He would not stumble any further into this infatuation with Kurt Hummel. He would not.

Except, he did, sort of, barely five seconds later, when Kurt tapped the cover of the book and beamed at him, somehow seeming warmer, even more beautiful with a smile dancing across his features, lighting him up, making him glow.

Blaine tried and failed to stop himself from grinning wide right back. "What?" he asked, his heart floating up high in his chest despite his best efforts to weigh it down with apathy and denial.

"This could be you," Kurt explained, slipping his finger between the pages to hold Blaine's place and then nudging them closed to show him the cover. Blaine had been staring at the picture there for a couple of weeks, frowning at it every time he remembered he was supposed to be reading the book for class. It was a boy, a young man, his face unknowable, missing off the top edge of the page, the lapels of a leather jacket open over a plain white wife beater. Sure, the attire was right, and he could even see a similarity in the boy's build – flat chest, muscled neck, square, sloping jawline – but he didn't think there was much of himself in the picture beyond that.

"You can't even see his face," he pointed out, then watched as Kurt ran his fingers over the picture, tracing the shadow on the boy's neck and then along the line of his jaw. "That could be anybody."

Kurt moved his hand from the book to touch Blaine instead, repeating the motions on his skin, first trailing over his neck and then along the hinge of his jaw, before lifting his hand and holding it just in front of Blaine's eyes, covering the features that were hidden on the cover of the book. Blaine caught a glimpse of a playfully contemplative expression on Kurt's face before he was staring at his hand instead, suddenly mesmerized by the lines etched into the soft white of his palm. Wanting to trace them, kiss them, follow them wherever they might lead.

"That makes the resemblance even stronger," he heard Kurt's voice, soft and like music, hum from the other side of his hand, pulling him back to their conversation. "Sometimes I can look right at you and still not see you. Like you don't want me to. Like you won't let me."

It was working, then. He could close himself off to this boy in his bed, in his arms. He could look into those beautiful eyes, stare into their depths for hours without their owner suspecting what he saw there. Kindness. Light. Perfection. A chance. Well, he wasn't surprised. Detached, committed indifference was something he'd been practicing for a long time, now. He ought to be the very best at it.

But he didn't exactly feel like an expert at not caring at the moment. Not with Kurt's chest rising and falling next to him and his breath puffing warm and sweet across his skin. He grasped Kurt's hand in his own and gently lowered them both to his chest, resting their clasped fingers over his heart, which he knew was beating faster – much, _much_ faster – than could possibly be normal or healthy. He could only hope that Kurt wouldn't notice.

"You see me everyday, baby." Blaine could hear the mask in his own voice, the light, teasing tone that he used to hide everything he was feeling. "You see _a lot_ of me everyday," he added, smirking down at Kurt and raising an eyebrow suggestively, referring to both the amount of time they spent together and how much of it was spent without clothes on.

Kurt didn't laugh, just looked at him thoughtfully and shrugged his shoulders. "Yes and no," he said simply, clearly still of the opinion that Blaine was not an open book to him, but unwilling to argue the point. "And that reminds me. Tomorrow I have to finish my tux for prom and then Saturday is the dance and I'm spending the night with Mercedes, so I probably won't see you at all this weekend. You'll have to soldier through all your homework without me until next week."

Blaine groaned and pulled him closer. The idea of spending yet another weekend miles and days away from Kurt was about the worst thing he could imagine. He could survive a few days on his own, of course. Hell, he'd survived a couple of years on his own, essentially, and he was pulling through just fine. But the thing was, he didn't particularly want to anymore. Not now that he'd been spoiled with company – beautiful, sexy, naked company – for almost a week straight. He wanted to spend hours and hours, days and days with Kurt here with him, exploring and being explored, forgetting about the rest of the world and hoping it would forget about them, too, and leave them here to taste and touch each other for as long as it took to have that perfect pale flesh memorized.

"That's the last thing I want to hear, baby," he grumbled as he rolled Kurt onto his back, nosing at his neck and wondering how many kisses it would take to convince Kurt to blow off his friends and spend at least part of the weekend with him instead. He decided to get started and find out, opening his mouth against Kurt's throat and flicking his tongue ring against it with each hot kiss.

"You're – you're getting really good at poetry analysis," Kurt said breathlessly. "You wrote that summary of 'Weekend Glory' all by yourself. You'll be fine working on your own for a couple of days."

"Fuck that," Blaine murmured, digging at Kurt's collarbone a little with his teeth and smiling to himself when he heard a high, almost musical sigh of pleasure sneak past Kurt's lips. "I don't care about homework, baby. I just want you here with me. Preferably naked."

Kurt groaned too, now, his fingers snaking into Blaine's hair and twisting it almost painfully, though of course Blaine wasn't about to complain, not when he could feel Kurt's body going weak and pliant underneath him, his resolve melting away under the heat of Blaine's palms. This was going to be easier than he thought.

"I've been looking forward to it for months, though," Kurt whined, sounding more like he was telling himself than Blaine, and yes, he was close now, he could tell. Kurt was totally going to give in, and then he could spend the weekend learning every spot on his body that made him whimper, there, like that. He pushed into a spot on Kurt's shoulder and heard the lovely sound again before, "And I can't just cancel on my friends. They'd – ah, _Blaine_ – they'd never forgive me, and I would never stop – never stop – never stop hearing about everything I missed."

"_If you want to learn how to live life right  
__you ought to study me on a Saturday night_."

Blaine whispered the words into Kurt's ear. They were from that Maya Angelou poem Kurt had just mentioned, and okay, he changed them a little and no, they weren't written to convince a gorgeous, sweet-lipped boy to spend his Saturday tangled up and sweating with him, but he liked them anyway. Kurt must have liked them, too, because he was smiling softly as Blaine dragged his tongue along his jaw, tracing the line of it with his tongue ring and then kissing his swollen lips, thinking of all the things they could do to him if Kurt would just give in.

"You could go with me."

Blaine's head snapped up, his tongue still hanging past his lips as he stared at Kurt in utter shock. No. That was not what Blaine had expected to hear. Kurt was supposed to arch into him, breathe his name against his skin and say, _yes, yes of course I'll come. I have to come. I want you. I need you._

Instead, he'd just invited him to prom. Fucking prom. And now Kurt was looking up at him hopefully, clearly expecting to hear the same words Blaine had been waiting for.

"I was going to just go with my friends," Kurt said, seeming a little antsy now, like he was anxious to fill the stunned silence, "But now everyone has a date, so I'd probably end up standing around by myself, and – and, like you said, I don't want to go the whole weekend without seeing you."

Blaine was having trouble breathing. He could feel his pulse in his ears. There was an odd sort of ringing sound obscuring Kurt's voice, distorting the sweet, high pitch of it until it sounded more like a warped growl as he spoke, and Blaine suddenly would have done anything just to shut him up. The noise was making him dizzy, and he felt a fresh pang of soreness in his torso, as if someone was pressing something heavy into the bruises there. He sat up, backing away from Kurt and running his fingers through his hair.

"You could come out with us to dinner," Fuck. Kurt was still talking, propping himself up on his elbows and tilting his head a little to study him. "We're going to Breadstix, and then we could just – just hang out at the dance for a while and, I don't know, dance a little, or, or just people-watch if you're not into – into dancing, or – or whatever you want, really."

His head was pounding, an aching, drumming pressure behind his eyes, and he screwed them shut to try to block it out. But his silence and lack of response were apparently making Kurt more nervous, because he was speaking faster now, more and more words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush, each syllable a fist knocking Blaine further and further into that awful memory, until he felt like he was bleeding and raw again, wounded and miserable in a way he hadn't been in two years. He'd forgotten how much he hated the feeling.

He stood up, zipping his jeans again and fastening the button, and then spotted Kurt's white t-shirt and his underwear on the ground next to his feet. He picked them up, wadding them together and chucking them at him where he still sat on the bed, hoping he would get dressed, cover himself up so that at least part of his confusion – the strange, teetering see-saw between admiring Kurt's stunning form and despising every word that came from his lips, would ebb and disappear.

It worked, kind of. Kurt pulled his shirt over his head, and stood to step into his boxer-briefs, but kept talking, kept trying to make the idea of junior prom appealing, kept gazing at him with those kind, affectionate, pleading eyes.

"And then afterward a few of us are going to Mercedes' house and, okay, so I know you two haven't exactly hit it off, but I could ask her if you could come and, and you could watch a movie with us. Do you like musicals?"

"No."

"You – you don't? Oh. Well, we don't have to watch a musical, we could pick something you like, too."

"No," Blaine repeated, firmly, serious. He could hear the low rumble like thunder in his own voice and he didn't like it, but he didn't like what Kurt was asking him, either. "I mean I don't want to go to prom with you."

Kurt's face fell at once, and if Blaine's heart hadn't already hit the floor when talk veered to prom it would have plummeted straight into his shoes at the look of disappointment on that beautiful face. But too bad. Nothing – _nothing_ – could make him agree to go to a school dance. Ever. "Oh. Okay, well, it wouldn't have to be a big deal or anything. You wouldn't even have to dress up, I mean –"

"Fuck, I just said no, Hummel. _No_."

He watched hurt spread in Kurt's eyes and willed himself not to care, not to worry or bother with making it better. This was awful for him, too, more awful than Kurt could understand, and fuck if he was going to relive the worst night in his life just to spare feelings. No fucking way was he going to do that.

"Why not?" Kurt's voice was thick with injury, somewhat sad as he moved toward him, looking at him with soft, patient curiosity, and Blaine instinctively battled the new wave of regret with rage.

"I – _Christ_ – because I don't want to, okay?" Blaine was practically shouting now, and Kurt halted in his tracks, staring wide-eyed and wounded from a few feet away. He could feel his dread and anger taking him over, hatred boiling inside him, turning his breath into poison in his lungs, making his words sharp and venomous. "I never said I wanted to take you on dates or meet your friends or fucking dance with you. I never said I wanted to do anything with you except fuck you 'til you're screaming. And just – especially not a dance. I fucking hate dances."

Kurt's bottom lip was trembling as he spoke, swallowing so hard that Blaine could practically see the lump going down his throat. "You – you don't have to be a jerk. You c-could have just told me no –"

"I shouldn't have to! Why would you even ask me?" he was pacing, like a frightened, caged animal, back and forth between the ends of the bed, "Jesus, what the fuck do you think this is? This wasn't supposed to be about talking or going out. This was supposed to be about getting through the school year and getting off, and you're trying to – to fucking tame me and parade me around like some kind of pet."

"That's not true," Kurt was crying now, "I just didn't want to go by myself, and – and I thought we might have fun together."

"The only time I'm going to have fun with you is when you're on your goddamn back, Hummel. So unless you're ready to check your silly fucking dreams of romance at the door you can get the hell out and stay the fuck away from me."

There was a moment of tense, ringing silence, and somewhere beneath the panicked rage Blaine was aware that he had probably just ruined the only thing that had brought him any happiness in years. But it was bringing him pain, now, and he had to do something to make it stop. Anything. Anything at all to quell the storm of misery raging inside his chest.

"Fine," Kurt said suddenly, and his voice was no longer trembling. It was strong and angry and so loud that Blaine almost took a step back in surprise. Kurt was standing now, tall and furious as he scooped the rest of his clothes off the floor, dressing quickly and shoving his feet back into his shoes, not even bothering to tie the laces in his temper. "Fine. I only started hanging out with you to help you study, and you're not even interested in getting any work done. So you've used me and completely wasted my time, and I'm an idiot for letting it go on this long anyway."

Blaine was in actual physical agony now, the tight pain in his chest amplified tenfold while he watched Kurt shove his history notes into his bag and sling it across his shoulders. Some part of him wanted to say something, anything that would stop Kurt from rushing around his room in a blind fury, but the words were stuck in his throat, lodged beneath a lump of panic and fear and anger. "You're right," he growled. "You are a fucking idiot, for thinking this was anything other than an easy way to get off."

Kurt wrenched the door open, glaring into the room at him as he fixed to leave it."I was right about something else, too," he snapped, and Blaine caught the shine of tears on his face and the quaver in his voice as he shot back at him. "You're an asshole."

The door slammed shut, the force of it shaking the room and the noise echoing inside Blaine's chest. He backed up until he hit the wall, heaving a heavy, gasping sigh, both relieved and horrified that Kurt had just stormed out of his room and possibly, no, _definitely_ out of his life. He had had something good, something great, for just under two weeks, and now, just like that, he was gone.

His knees felt weak, unsteady, and he sagged back against the wall, sliding down to the floor with a deep, weary devastation. He tipped his face into his hands, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands and willing himself to stop feeling so sad, so hollow. Kurt had been nothing but a fun way to spend a few afternoons. A toy. A distraction.

A mistake.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Hello again. A brief disclaimer, since prom happens in this chapter and I've used some of the events and dialogue from the season two episode "Prom Queen." Anything you recognize belongs entirely to Glee, though I've tailored things here and there to fit this version of events.

Quite a few of you have been very impatient to know what comes next after the way that last chapter ended (sorry), and finally the wait is over. Happy reading! And, you know, happy reviewing, too. xo

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**Sex and Poetry: Chapter 11**

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The alarm blared loud and shrill into Blaine's room at 6:30 on Friday morning, cruelly waking him from an already fitful sleep. His hand fumbled and blindly crashed against it a few times before he finally felt out the button in the dark and silenced the sharp ringing, earning himself a moment or two of peace while his mind tried to sink back into sleepy visions of pale skin and blue eyes and soft smiles.

By 6:31 the quiet inside of him had already passed. As he blinked and stirred from his rest a different kind of noise had slowly filled the space in his head that had been occupied by indistinct dreams of mouths and tongues a few minutes earlier. Bleary, hazy, and very real memories of his loud argument with Kurt the night before twisted cold, ruthless fingers into the fabric of more pleasant thoughts and yanked them away, slipping into his head to take their place. Oh, yeah. That.

Well. That settled it.

He wasn't going to school today. Or next week. Or at all.

There was no point. What did it matter if he failed his classes anyway? He wasn't going to stick around Lima now, not if the one reason he'd found for staying was probably never going to speak to him again. He could go back to his routine now, spending his days stealing cigarettes and alcohol and his nights at Scandals, smoking and drinking and fucking the next few weeks of his life away before hopping on a bus headed for somewhere new, before his dad could make good on his promise to send him back to military school.

He groaned and turned away from his clock (6:39) as the previous evening came to the surface of his mind again, pulling the covers back up over his head and burrowing his face more deeply into his pillow, hoping he could fall back asleep and just forget the whole thing for a few more hours.

Not likely. Not when his sheets still smelled like Kurt and the other memories of last night – the ones before the sudden explosion of hurt and anger between them – were right there, playing themselves out again every time Blaine closed his eyes. He could still see Kurt's full, pink lips gasping around his name, the blue of his eyes lit up with happiness and arousal as they gazed into his own, his soft fingertips whispering across his skin. He didn't _want_ to go back to his old routine, he realized. He wanted Kurt, and a strange, painful warmth glowed in the pit of his stomach as he pictured his face; sweet and caring and so, so beautiful.

And then he thought about how hurt that perfect face had looked when Blaine had lashed out at him, firing angry words at him until tears had streaked down his flushed cheeks. The heat burned hotter in his gut, flames licking up into his chest and scorching his heart as he remembered Kurt walking out the door.

Was that the last time he would ever see him? That brief glimpse of his back before the door slammed shut behind him? He was fairly confident Kurt would never want to come here again, and if he didn't go back to school, well, then that was that. It was over, and he had seen the smile in those eyes for the last time.

No. He couldn't live with that. He had known from the very beginning that he couldn't turn his time with Kurt into something lasting, or anything more meaningful than stolen hours of pleasure in this small, lonely hotel room, and he was fine with that. But he didn't want to give him up before he absolutely had to, either. He wanted a few more weeks of the new, wonderful feeling he got when Kurt looked into his eyes, reached his hands out to touch his face, leaned into his kisses and sighed those happy sounds into his ear. He wanted to hear him laugh and make him smile and spend as many minutes as he had left in Ohio memorizing what it was like to love someone.

Shit, no. That's not what he meant. Not love. Not really. Just want. And need. And that strange pull in his chest that he couldn't explain and couldn't get enough of.

There had to be a way to fix this. To erase whatever damage he had done and get Kurt back in his life for just a few more weeks. He thought briefly about swallowing the lump in his throat and agreeing to go to the prom, but before he could even form half a plan to offer, the panic had surged into his throat again and his palms started to sweat, and no. No. He couldn't do that.

He'd have to just apologize and tempt him back with sweet, kind words and maybe, if Kurt would let him, sweeter, kinder kisses. If that didn't work then, well, Blaine didn't know what he would do.

At 6:58, he got out of bed and slipped on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt and scrubbed dry hands across his face, trying to rub the stress and sadness from his eyes. He shrugged tired arms into his leather jacket and nudged his sneakers on before picking up his school bag and walking out the door.

For the first time since he'd met Kurt two weeks ago, his heart and his feet were heavy on the way to school.

* * *

Kurt was not going to look at him.

No.

He had sat at his usual place in the school courtyard before classes started that morning, and he had noticed Blaine near the steps almost at once. But he was staunchly refusing to so much as glance in his direction. For the first time in a long while he was giving his undivided attention to Mercedes, who seemed to be equal parts excited and stressed about her quasi-date with Sam.

"I know Rachel and Jesse are going to be there and it's technically supposed to be a group thing, but if I know her at all she's going to strand me alone with Sam within the first twenty minutes, and I bet we won't even have five words to say to each other."

"You never know," Kurt mused, trying to encourage her and help her relax. Just because he was going to be alone and miserable at his prom, didn't mean he wanted Mercedes to freak out and waste what could be a perfectly fun evening, too. The fewer of them to suffer the humiliation of attending a school dance solo, the better. "Maybe sparks will fly. Maybe this is the opportunity fate has been waiting for."

Mercedes gave him a look. She could not have said _you are crazy_ any more clearly even if she had used the actual words. "He's only dated pencil-thin cheerleaders since he moved here, Kurt. I am not his type."

It took everything in him not to sneak just the tiniest of peeks toward the dark shape on the stairs that he knew was Blaine in his leather jacket, but Kurt forced himself to smile at Mercedes instead. "Don't be ridiculous. Guys don't always have one specific type. Look at Puck and Zizes."

"I just want to have one night of feeling like a princess," Mercedes said. "It doesn't matter if it turns into something more, as long as tomorrow is magical."

Kurt nodded and tried to look happy for her, even though his insides were twisting uncontrollably in his stomach just knowing Blaine was there - _right there_ - on the steps. He was pointedly avoiding talking about the night before with Mercedes, since he half-expected her to gloat and say_ I told you_ _so_ as soon as she found out that his fling with Blaine had gone sour. Plus, he'd spent too much of his time thinking about him and pining after him and, after last night, crying over him already. He'd been stupid enough to put his heart into every minute he'd spent with Blaine, and then it had been hurt, crushed between those callused hands until it was bruised and weak and aching. There were plenty of tears on his pillow to prove it.

Mercedes was still talking about Sam, but he couldn't focus anymore. All the talk of prom was taking him right back to that hotel room, to the way it felt when Blaine had taken all of his hopeful expectations and ground them into dust. God, he really had been an idiot, to believe Blaine was looking at him with anything other than lust during all those study sessions in his room. He'd brought him there for one reason, and one reason only, and it hadn't been to get his homework done. It'd been to take advantage of him, to make him feel just special and wanted enough to take off his clothes and let Blaine have everything he wanted.

Well, not everything. Not really. They'd fooled around and gotten very physical and done things Kurt wouldn't have even been able to imagine a few short weeks ago, but they hadn't had sex. Not all the way. And if Kurt allowed himself a minute to think about what had gone so wrong last night, he started to wonder what had made Blaine treat him so dismissively before he'd gotten the only thing he'd claimed to have wanted from the beginning. To fuck him.

Maybe Kurt was much worse at everything than Blaine had let on. Maybe once he'd finally been on more than just the receiving end of all the sexual favors, Blaine had realized that bothering with him would be a huge waste of time. Maybe he was a disappointment.

But that couldn't be true. If he was that terrible than Blaine wouldn't have enjoyed it enough to get off, would he? And the way Blaine had held him after, like he was cradling something precious and fragile in his arms. And the way he'd looked at him, like he was afraid Kurt might be a dream, a perfect vision that could vanish in the blink of an eye...

Well. He must have imagined that. It had been wishful thinking, those times Kurt had looked up and seen something more than pure want in those hazel eyes. Something like hope and affection and awe. Something that had made Kurt feel like he was looking into a strange sort of mirror that reflected his exact feelings, because those were all things he felt, too, when he looked at Blaine. Wonder and warmth and longing.

It took Kurt a moment to realize that he wasn't just remembering that heated, hazel gaze. He was staring into it. At some point during his thoughts he'd turned and found Blaine's eyes without meaning to, and wow, no. He was not imagining it. There was something here between them. Still. All those same stirrings started up inside of him at once, but there was more now. Sadness and disappointment and anger and regret.

He looked away quickly, already feeling his pulse race and his heart start to beat wildly in his chest. No. No. As much as he wanted to go back, to have that secret happiness again, it was too late. Everything had changed the moment Blaine had yelled that he didn't want him for anything more than sex.

Wait. No. Kurt chewed his lip and stared down at the table as he thought back. It had been before that. It had been the moment Kurt had suggested that Blaine come with him to prom. That had been it. That had been the instant that he'd watched the warmth freeze over in Blaine's eyes. He'd gone pale and his breathing had turned erratic. His brow had furrowed, the storm clouds had blown into his eyes, and his lips had stopped kissing Kurt at once, instead pulling into an unsettled frown.

At the time he'd been too nervous and eager for an answer to notice, but something nagged in the back of Kurt's mind as he pictured that expression again. He'd seen it somewhere before. He searched his admittedly short supply of memories with Blaine and tried to find it, tried to pinpoint exactly when he would have seen Blaine looking so, so...scared. That was it, wasn't it? He couldn't think of a reason Blaine had to be afraid of a school dance, but that was it. Undeniably. For some reason he associated that shocked, shaky scowl with fear.

He glanced back up and felt the familiar shiver rush through his body. Blaine's eyes were blazing and aimed right at him, burning deep and shocking his heart into an even more frantic rhythm. Kurt couldn't help it. He stared back for a brief moment, taking in Blaine's rather rumpled appearance and the slight sag in his shoulders, but then tore his gaze away. He stared down at his hands on the table and breathed heavily, reminding himself not to get lost in that fiery gaze again. It didn't matter how Blaine looked at him anymore. It didn't matter that he seemed weighed down and desperate and stuck somewhere between sad and sorry over there on the courtyard steps. Kurt had sworn he wouldn't give any more of his time to that jerk, and he had meant it.

The warning bell rang and chaos broke out in the common area as everyone rushed to their homerooms. Kurt stood and slung his bag over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on anything but Blaine. His feet. The ground. Santana.

Santana. She was standing right in front of him, wearing a ridiculous red beret and jacket and her typically hard stare. "Come on, Mr. Ma-gay. I'm escorting you to class."

Oh, right. Santana's insane plan to protect him from harassment in the hallways. She for some reason thought this new anti-bullying stance was going to win her votes for Prom Queen, and Kurt secretly thought the plan was nuts, but as the only out gay kid in the student population, he was sort of forced to take part in the charade. He gathered his books with an air of resigned annoyance and followed her from the courtyard, ignoring her loud proclamations against school violence and hoping that she wasn't serious about doing this all day, because frankly it was almost as humiliating as the bullying itself.

As they filed away from the steps, Santana shouting warnings to any potential tormentors the whole way, Kurt couldn't help himself. He looked back just once, and was met again by the intense pair of eyes that had upended his entire life just a couple of weeks ago.

He blinked hard as he turned around and walked a little more quickly to keep up with Santana. That was over, now. He had to start putting things back how they belonged.

* * *

By some miracle or by the sheer force of his will, Kurt managed to keep his mind off of Blaine for most of the morning. He spent the entirety of Civics class continuing a discussion of the dance with Mercedes, was paraded down the hallway in service of Santana's Prom Queen campaign again before second period, and sat through an angry tirade from Quinn, who felt that he was being disloyal to Finn by participating – however passively – in an opposing run for prom court. By the time the end of his second class rolled around, Kurt had to admit he was looking forward to the end of all the prom-induced drama and hysteria as much as to the dance itself.

He loaded his textbook and notes into his bag and headed for the hall, hoping that he could make it to his next class without being chaperoned by Santana and without running into or glimpsing Blaine. Not that he was even thinking about Blaine. Because he wasn't.

To his relief, he didn't find Santana waiting for him in the hallway.

To his horror, he found Karofsky instead.

"I'm supposed to walk you to class," Karofsky mumbled, and Kurt could only blink at him in shock. He had braced himself for any number of names or comments when he saw him in the hall. Faggot. Fancy Pants. Fairy Boy.

Kurt stared at him suspiciously, hardly daring to believe this wasn't some kind of trick. But then he noticed the bright red jacket and beret that matched Santana's exactly, the walkie-talkie in his hand, and the fading but still very noticable bruises on the side of his face - the ones Blaine had given him - and suddenly he found himself feeling sort of sorry for the guy. He was so trapped. Caged. Unable and unwilling to be himself, choosing instead to masquerade as a macho jock with a cheerleader girlfriend, the person so many people had told him he should be.

It was the saddest thing Kurt could imagine.

"Okay," he finally said, falling in step alongside him and heading for his third period classroom. They walked in silence, Kurt marveling silently at the wary, watchful expression on Karofsky's face, walkie-talkie clutched tightly in his palm, as if he really took this whole _protecting him_ thing very seriously.

They reached his classroom door and Karofsky told him he was headed to Calculus and rattled off some kind of instructions about what to do after class, but Kurt was still trying to figure out how Santana had talked him into doing this. He knew her fake boobs didn't hold any power over a closeted gay teen, so what the hell was in it for him? It didn't make any sense.

Unless Karofsky wanted...to help him? Unless he was actually...remorseful? Was that possible?

Kurt nodded absently and watched a couple of students file past them and into the class. And then he realized that something seemed strange, and it wasn't that someone as seemingly thick as Karofsky could be taking Calculus in his junior year, although that _was_ pretty surprising.

He looked at Karofsky uncertainly, and then decided that maybe things had cleared up enough between them to try a conversation. "Have you noticed that no one has said boo to me this week?"

Karofsky seemed almost proud, as if he hadn't been the main source of Kurt's terror for two straight years. "Because the Bully Whips are protecting you."

Kurt had thought of that. He also thought it might have something to do with the fact that until today he was frequently seen in the hallways with Blaine Anderson, and most people seemed to think he was someone they shouldn't piss off. But part of him hoped there was another reason that there had been such a drastic change in the way his peers were treating him.

"Maybe," Kurt said. "But maybe no one has been harassing me this week because nobody cares."

Karofsky shook his head and scoffed, disbelieving. "You're dreamin'.

"Okay, look, I'm not saying that everyone in the school is ready to embrace the gay, but maybe at least they've evolved enough to be indifferent." Karofsky looked utterly dismayed, like he was on the verge of tears, and a wave of compassion had Kurt saying way more than he'd initially planned. "I see how miserable you are, David. I could just hate you when you were bullying me but...now all I see is your pain. And you don't have to torture yourself over this. I'm not saying you should come out tomorrow, but maybe soon the moment will arise when you can."

The bell rang, and it was as if the sound opened a dam inside of Karofsky. He started to cry, and Kurt didn't know what to make of it. He stood staring, clutching his books to his chest and hardly knowing how to react to sight of the biggest, meanest jock at McKinley breaking down before his very eyes.

"What's wrong?"

Karofsky slumped against the wall, his anguish apparently too much to carry without help. He pulled his beret off tiredly, and then, shockingly, Kurt was getting a tearful apology.

"I'm so...I'm so freaking sorry, Kurt. I'm just – just so sorry for what I did to you." His voice was wrecked, and Kurt was fairly certain he'd never seen anyone so unhappy in his entire life. Which was saying quite a lot, because he'd been standing right next to Rachel Berry last year when they'd lost Regionals.

"I know. I know."

Karofsky's eyes suddenly went wide, and then stoic as he wiped them with the back of his hand and pushed himself away from the wall. Kurt opened his mouth to try another handful of encouraging words, but before he had a chance he heard a familiar voice behind him. A voice that made his blood run warmer and his heart clench painfully in his chest. A low, smooth timbre that seeped right through his skin and into his bones.

"What the fuck did I tell you about bothering him, Meathead?"

It was Blaine. His voice was sharp and angry, too much like it had been last night in his room, when he had yelled for Kurt to leave and stay away. Kurt flinched when he heard it, even though this time the venom wasn't aimed at him.

Karofsky ignored Blaine, addressing Kurt as he took a nervous step back. "Remember. Wait for me here, right?"

"He's not going to be waiting for you," Blaine hissed, stepping in front of Kurt and leaning right in to Karofsky's face. "But I will be if you come anywhere near him again."

Karofsky glanced quickly between Blaine and Kurt, looking stricken and scared, and Kurt stared back at him with wide eyes, every bit as shocked by Blaine's sudden intercession as Karofsky seemed to be. He finally recovered enough to speak, but before he could say anything by way of a mediation Karofsky had turned and was hurrying away to his own class.

"David, wait –" he shouted to Karofsky's retreating back, but the red jacket and beret had disappeared around the corner, and now he was left alone with Blaine outside of his classroom.

Great.

Blaine was facing him now, his eyes tearing over his face with a crazed sort of desperation, as if he'd been starving for the sight of him for hours. But there was something of the old guardedness in them, too; that cold, inexpressive hardness that had found its way back to his gaze last night when they had fought. Kurt hated it.

There was a long moment of stubborn silence, and then they each decided to speak at once.

"He wasn't bothering me," Kurt informed him bitingly, just as Blaine scowled and said, "'_David'_?" questioning Kurt's suddenly friendly terms with his bully and screwing up his face as he repeated the name, as though the syllables themselves tasted foul and unpleasant.

"Yes, _David_," Kurt glared at him, secretly infuriated that Blaine could look so handsome even with his features pulled into a disgusted grimace. How annoying. "He wasn't bothering me. We were only talking."

"I told him not to talk to you," Blaine growled, stepping closer and reaching out to grasp Kurt by the elbow. Kurt felt the familiar flare of heat in his skin where Blaine's fingers gripped him, and he set his jaw, trying hard to ignore both the burn of his touch and the flash of metal he could see on Blaine's tongue as he spoke. "I told him not to touch you, look at you, or say a goddamn word to you ever again."

Kurt was suddenly livid. He had felt just as miserable last night after Blaine had yelled at him as he ever had after any awful encounter with Karofsky. Worse, even, because he had started to trust Blaine, had opened up to him, had acted on desires that he'd been forced to keep hidden and secret almost his whole life, and had let himself believe that it meant something. But it hadn't. It'd been a lie, a cruel trick, and it had hurt more than anything he'd faced in his life so far.

And now Blaine had the nerve to act like he was protecting him? No. Kurt wasn't going to let him do that. In fact, he was going to do everything he could to make Blaine feel as bad as he did. It was only fair.

"What makes you so interested in who I talk to?" he asked, yanking his arm out of Blaine's grip. "Are you worried that I'll take everything you showed me and use it on someone else?" The very idea was absurd, but he was glad when he saw the angry, jealous fire rise up in Blaine's eyes.

"That's not funny," Blaine said, in a surprisingly even tone, apparently trying hard not to have a repeat of the prior night's screaming match.

But Kurt wasn't done. Part of him was getting a sick kind of joy watching Blaine get upset, after all the hurtful things he'd had shouted at him in his room. "Who says I'm joking?" he said, challenging. "Who says I won't use every trick you taught me on the whole fucking football team?"

Blaine's eyes flashed again, and for a moment Kurt remembered why he'd found him so intimidating and almost scary when he'd first met him. He looked furious. Dangerous. Like he'd tear every linebacker limb from limb if he thought that they had so much as glanced at him. "Don't fuck with me, Hummel. I know you only want me."

"No, I don't," Kurt spat, and he tasted the bitterness of a lie on his tongue, but he ignored it. "_You_ are fucking impossible! You were practically begging to spend the weekend with me one minute and then treating me like a pile of trash the next. What am I supposed to make of that?"

"I don't know what you want from me, Hummel. I told you from day one that I wasn't gonna be your boyfriend."

"I didn't ask you to be," Kurt couldn't help but raise his voice a little in frustration. "All I wanted was for you to go with me to a stupid dance."

"If it's so stupid, why do you want to go?" Blaine demanded. "We could still hang out on Saturday. Just skip it and come to my place instead. We can think of a different way to have fun." He reached out and held Kurt's arm again, stroking the inside of his wrist with a rough thumb.

Kurt jerked his arm away, ignoring the heat that seemed to spread from where Blaine had touched him and straight to the pit of his stomach. "_No_. I'm going to my prom. I worked hard on my tux and all my friends will be there and I'm going to have fun and make tons of amazing memories and I don't know why I ever thought I needed you with me to do it."

"Come over tonight, then," Blaine asked, his eyes wide and pleading, the anger melting into desperation. "Or Sunday. Please?"

"I don't want to do that with you anymore." There it was again. The taste of dishonesty on his tongue as he spoke the words. He swallowed and tried not think about all of those stolen hours with Blaine. The kisses, caresses, and sweet, murmured words that left him breathless. "You were using me. You made me feel like some kind of – of toy, or something."

"I wasn't –" Blaine stopped himself before he could get a full sentence out, then changed direction entirely. "What if I promise not to lay a hand on you? We can just work together. Come over and help me with this school shit."

"You don't need my help. I'm a _fucking idiot_, remember?"

Blaine just stared at him, and Kurt could tell he was panicking, that he'd actually thought that they could just pretend the previous night had never happened, that they could sweep it all under the rug and pick up right where they left off. Some of the hardness was leaving his expression, though, now, and when he reached for Kurt's arm a third time, it was with hesitant, gentle fingers, and the warmth Kurt felt at the touch was slower, steadier, and glowed quietly in his heart when Blaine looked at him with unmasked apology.

"Kurt. I – I get that you're mad," Blaine's voice was trembling and pitched a little higher than usual, and so Kurt listened, holding his breath. "I was such a fucking prick, okay, I know. I know that. But I'm sorry and I'm full of shit and every single fucking thing I said to you was a lie. I really like you and I want to spend time with you and I don't think you're an idiot. I think you're the greatest."

Kurt let out an exasperated breath, then, "You're just saying that so you can fuck me."

"No," Blaine's eyes had gone wide and sincere again, and Kurt's heart was hot and aching in his chest from trying to ignore how beautiful they were. "No, I'm not, I swear. I don't care if you never let me touch you again, but please come this weekend. You don't even have to talk to me, I – I just really like having you there."

He looked so hopeful, and even though Kurt knew better - knew that this could easily be nothing but another lie, another trick, another attempt just to get what he wanted from him - he found himself wanting to give in.

He didn't, though. Not right away. Not entirely.

"I can't," Kurt said, surprised when his voice came out completely calm and devoid of the anger that had surged through veins like a drug mere minutes ago. "But you know where I'll be tomorrow night. If you want to see me, you should come. I'll -" he swallowed hard. "I'll save you a dance."

A look of pure anguish crossed Blaine's beautiful face, and he opened his mouth to answer, but Kurt didn't give him the chance. He didn't think he could bear to be rejected again. Not now. Not after this whole fucked up day and not when he felt like crying or screaming or hitting Blaine for putting him through this or some combination of the three. He tugged the door to his classroom opened and rushed inside, ignoring the way every single head in the room turned to stare at him as he made his way to his seat and threw himself into it, barely fighting off the urge to weep into his hands.

His teacher graciously disregarded the interruption, carrying on at the front of the room as if nothing at all had cut into her lecture, and Kurt dug a notebook and pen out of his bag, preparing to take notes and try to catch up on what he'd missed.

He didn't end up writing a single word. He didn't even scribble in the margins. He was too lost in his own thoughts.

Yesterday it had been kisses that made him late to class. Today it was tears.

* * *

"I don't like it."

Later that night, Kurt finally had his tuxedo to a point where he could at least try it on, and he was spinning around a little in his living room, showing it off to Finn and his dad. The kilt he had made fanned and spun perfectly, but Burt Hummel, for one, was not impressed.

"Well of course you don't like it," Kurt said lightly, hardly unused to his father's confusion over his wardrobe choices. "It's not finished yet. I think it still needs like a sash, or maybe some beads around the - "

Burt didn't seem too interested in the suit's finishing touches. "Look, I'm not gonna stop you from wearing it, but I gotta be honest, I - I think you're just trying to stir the pot a little bit. I think you're tryin' to get some attention.

"Exactly. What's the point of dressing up? I mean that's why some guys wear the tails with the top hat and the girls wear the hoop skirts. I mean, Finn, help me out here. Actually, no, don't. You're wearing a rugby shirt, so your opinion doesn't count."

Finn looked down at his shirt with a somewhat puzzled expression, as if he didn't know what could possibly be wrong with a rugby shirt, and Kurt didn't even have time to go into that now, and his dad wasn't finished being disapproving, anyway.

"There's a lot of bad people out there, Kurt, and they're a lot worse than this Karofsky kid, and all they're lookin' for is a match to light under the fire of their hate. Now, of course I want - I want you to be yourself. But, I also - I want you to be practical."

Kurt thinned his lips. He knew his dad was looking out for him, just wanted him to be safe, but he was irritated all the same that this town and its army of small-minded inhabitants were holding him back.

Again.

"Okay," he said finally, "I have done _everything_ right, and prom is about joy, not about fear. So I'm wearing this suit. I worked hard on it, and I think it's fantastic." He turned on his heel and marched back to his bedroom, pretty sure now that his first prom experience had so far been about as terrible as possible, considering the dance was still a full day away. The only guy he'd thought would possibly want to be his date had shot him down immediately, he had somehow found himself caught between opposing Prom Queen candidates, and now his dad was frowning on the outfit it had taken him weeks to get just right. He was basically telling him to tone it down a bit, which Kurt supposed he ought to be used to by now, since it was something he'd been hearing his entire goddamn life.

But it still stung.

Oh well. Prom itself was bound to be more fun than the days leading up to it. He was going to dance and drink punch and probably spend a large part of the evening looking around at the dresses and silently berating the girls for making tragically wrong color choices and over-accessorizing.

Alone.

Which was fine.

Because, honestly, how much did he really want teen romance anyway? He'd watched all of his friends bicker and fight and make each other cry over boyfriends and girlfriends and who had sex with whom and who made out behind whose back and who got whom pregnant. The whole concept of young love was a mess, and Kurt would consider himself lucky to make it out of high school unscathed by the madness.

He took off his jacket and toyed with one of the sleeves, considering his options for some last-minute detailing at the cuff and telling himself that he was much better off without all the potential disappointments and pressures of a date.

But a tiny, hopeful voice in his head reminded him that he'd invited Blaine. That he'd promised to save a dance in case he changed his mind. His heart beat a little faster, and a smile almost crossed his lips as he imagined what it might be like to be surprised by a rose, or a callused hand held out as Blaine asked him to dance.

_Maybe he really wants to be with you_, the little voice said. _Maybe he'll come_.

Try as he might, Kurt couldn't get the voice to stop whispering to him, to stop getting his hopes up and inevitably setting him up to be let down. So he did the next best thing.

He sat down with his jacket and a handful of beads, and drowned it out with the steady whir and hum of the sewing machine.

* * *

Exactly 24 hours later, Kurt was standing on the fringes of the dance floor in the school's gym with a glass of punch in hand, watching (most of) his friends enjoy the dance. A few of them were missing. Finn and Jesse had nearly come to blows over Rachel before Coach Sylvester had shown up and forcibly dragged them from the building. Artie had disappeared barely ten minutes after he'd arrived, undoubtedly thwarted in his attempt to spike the punchbowl, since the drink Kurt was nursing had absolutely no kick. He hadn't talked to Mercedes and Sam much either, but that was because the two of them were dancing constantly, laughing and smiling and in general having such a good time on the dance floor that they'd barely sat down for ten minutes since the music had started.

Kurt smiled wryly to himself. He wondered what Mercedes would be talking about more when they got back to her house after the dance: how much fun she'd had with Sam or how badly her feet hurt.

He looked away from them when Sam leaned and whispered into Mercedes' ear, feeling like he was intruding somehow even though he was way too far away to hear what was being said to make Mercedes giggle like that, and then found himself doing the same thing he'd been doing all evening. Staring at the doors to the dance and hoping to see a familiar face walk through them. Blaine.

So far, he'd been disappointed.

Rachel came twirling over to him a few moments later and interrupted his thoughts, and Kurt was relieved. He didn't want to spent the whole of the evening throwing his own pity party in the corner.

"Kurt, I can't tempt Sam away from Mercedes to save my life! Come dance with me!"

Kurt set down his glass and grasped Rachel's hand instead, spinning himself underneath her outstretched arm and tugging her playfully to the dance floor. They hopped and shimmied through a few fast songs, then swayed during a slow one, though Kurt wasn't sure which of the two of them was leading. They made the most of it, even if they each knew the other would rather be dancing with someone else.

They passed an hour or so together, dancing and drinking the non-alcoholic punch and bemoaning their singledom in a gymnasium full of couples, until Principal Figgins stopped the music and called all the prom court hopefuls to the stage.

"This is the moment you've all been waiting for," Figgins said at the microphone, "When we announce our Junior Prom King and also Prom Queen."

The prom court candidates looked excitedly and anxiously between themselves, and Kurt wondered how many of them had fantasized about murder to get their hands on that shiny little tiara. All of them, probably.

"Roll the drum, please." One of the band kids (Kurt really ought to know their names by now) obliged, and Figgins pulled the slip of paper from its envelope with a flourish. "This year's Junior Prom King is...David Karofsky!"

The crowd cheered, and Kurt clapped along with them as Karofsky gamely took his crown and scepter from the principal. Santana blew him two kisses and clapped ecstatically, clearly taking Karofsky's victory as proof that her campaign strategy had paid off. A small part of Kurt was sad for Karofsky, even as he applauded his win. There he was, sitting in the prom court throne, smiling but still pretending, still afraid.

Figgins was back to business. "And now, your 2011 McKinley High Prom Queen, with an overwhelming number of write-in votes is..."

The whole room seemed to hold its breath as Figgins silently read the name of the winner on the card. One thing was for sure, Kurt thought to himself. Whoever won was going to look freaking gorgeous up there. He was happy to see that all the girls had taken his advice to heart when choosing their gowns. Quinn looked like a real-live fairy tale princess, Santana smoldered in her red gown, and Zizes was as glamorous as Kurt had ever seen her. He waited along with everyone else to hear who would win, and then:

"Kurt Hummel."

There was a stunned silence, during which a few hundred pairs of eyes turned to stare at him and Kurt tried to make sense of the fact that he had just heard his own name from the stage.

Not Quinn. Not Santana. Not even Lauren Zizes.

Kurt Hummel.

Prom Queen.

Prom _Queen_.

He ran.

He ran, and no one followed him.

He ran out of the gym and down the nearest hallway, crying and cursing himself for thinking any part of this night had been a good idea. The kilt. The sash. The boots. The confidence.

Of course. _Of course_ it all came back to kick his ass in the end. He wasn't allowed to have anything good. At least nothing good that would last. He'd found an escape in Glee two years ago, an outlet, a place he could be himself. Then Karofsky had taunted and tortured him until he was forced to give it up for the safety of Dalton Academy.

And Dalton had been great, too. A happy rest from the day-in, day-out hell that was public school. A place where he could walk down the hallway without fear. But he had to do it in a uniform, a kind of mask, a muzzle over his heart and his soul and everything that made him, well, _him_.

Then he'd had Blaine. A boy who liked him, wanted him, looked at him like he'd happily choose his smile over the sunrise any day of the week. Until he hadn't anymore. Until he'd looked at him with something dangerously close to hatred instead.

He thought he could at least have prom. One night of dressing to the nines and letting loose with his friends. He'd thought things were changing at McKinley. That people were opening their hearts and minds to the people who were different. But no. They hadn't bothered him in the halls of school anymore because he had Finn, and Blaine, and recently Santana and Karofsky watching his back. But that had been a temporary fix, one the hateful student body had handily outsmarted with the sharp dagger of a ballpoint pen filling out a secret ballot.

He was still running. Past a few couples who had left the crowded gym to find a secluded corner to whisper in, past the cafeteria and then through the English hall where he'd first met Blaine.

Blaine.

The thought of him didn't slow Kurt's steps. He kept running, kept moving in any direction that was away from that sea of faces that had capsized his dreams of one night as a normal teenager.

His tears started to blur his vision, and he finally was forced to stop moving when he could hardly see where he was going. He turned into the first boys' restroom he found and leaned against the door, gasping between sobs to catch his breath.

Well, everyone had warned him, hadn't they? Mercedes, his dad, and even Karofsky had told him the hate was still there, under the surface, ready to boil over and scald him with the tiniest provocation. But he'd ignored them all, hadn't seen the discreet glares or heard the whispered insults in the hallways. He'd been distracted by a couple of weeks of happiness and fun with Blaine, and he'd been lured right back into a trap. This stupid dance had been one big stage for the entire school to humiliate him on.

Despite himself, he wished Blaine had come with him. Maybe this wouldn't feel so terrible, like such a cruel, unbearable injustice, if only he didn't have to go through it alone. But of course, wishing was pointless. Blaine didn't want him. That much was as painfully obvious as this school's attitude toward his sexuality.

Kurt felt another wave of tears spill from his eyes and his nose starting to run, and somehow found it in him to move his legs and carry himself to the sink, pulling out a handful of paper towels and wiping the moisture from his face. He looked in the mirror, saw the tears still streaming down his cheeks, saw the pain and embarrassment and fear on his own face. Something in his own eyes was calling to him, and he stared at his reflection for a long moment, trying to place it.

And then he gasped with sudden recognition.

Here it was again, right in front of him. That look. He had seen it on his own face before, of course. Two weeks ago exactly - when he'd stood at the mirror in the boys' locker room, shaking and gasping from the terrible memory of that kiss with Karofsky - he'd worn this very expression. One of dread and terror and misery.

But he'd seen it more recently, too, he realized. Across a different face. A dark, handsome, perfect set of features that had suddenly twisted and pulled into this very expression and shouted at him to get out and stay out.

Scared. Scarred.

And then Kurt knew, without having to wonder if he was crazy or grasping or making things up, why Blaine had said no with such fierce certainty when he'd invited him along. Why he'd gotten angry and retreated behind that mask of indifference and hardness. Why he'd lashed out and pushed him away.

Why he hadn't come tonight.

* * *

Kurt couldn't have known he was wrong about that last part.

Blaine had left school immediately after confronting Karofsky, then Kurt, outside of the French classroom on Friday afternoon, too shaken and upset by the cold way Kurt had talked to him to even think of finishing the day, and spent the rest of the night chain-smoking his way through three packs of cigarettes and drinking what was left of the vodka in his fridge.

He swore he could still taste Kurt's lips on the bottle.

Sleep had been elusive for the second night in a row, and he'd spent the small hours of the morning alternating between swearing up a storm at Kurt in his head – how fucking _dare_ he talk to him like that, make all those threats to fool around with other guys, when Blaine had been trying to _apologize_, for fuck's sake – and swearing up a storm at himself for messing everything up in the first place.

It was the latter voice that won out in the end, and the next day brought with it a grim determination to go to the fucking dance and set everything straight. He'd march in there and find Kurt, kiss him firmly on the lips, and claim him in front of everyone, secrecy and fear be damned. That beautiful boy was his, and no bad memory or bone-deep trauma was going to take him away.

And so, Blaine _had _come. In fact, he'd been one of the first to arrive at the school, dressed in one of his nicer shirts – a striped button-down he hadn't worn in years, a little tight across his chest and biceps now, but still better than his assortment of band tees for this sort of thing – and his neatest pair of jeans. He'd walked from his hotel to the high school and was almost to the parking lot by 8 o'clock, as the first couples started to show up in limos and borrowed BMWs and excitedly entered the gym.

Then he'd thrown up.

The mere sight of the guys in tuxedos, greeting each other with high fives and loud jokes about their friends' suits or bowties while their dates giggled and fussed over their hair, had turned his legs to jelly and his stomach into a pitching sea of anxiety.

He couldn't go in. He wanted to. He wanted to so, so badly. He wanted to see Kurt and dance with him and make sure he knew exactly how much Blaine loved - no, liked, _liked_ - being with him. How much he looked forward to touching him and hearing his voice and breathing him in every single day.

Blaine watched for over an hour from the edge of the football field, hoping he would glimpse Kurt when he arrived with his friends and find it in him to go inside, but he didn't see him. He saw more of the same. Loud football and hockey players making crude comments about what they hoped to do with their girlfriends after the dance, clapping each other on the back and letting their hands wander low over the girls' dresses.

He puked two more times behind the bleachers, and went home.


End file.
